


The Devil In My Brain

by princesshalo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Despite the subject matter this is NOT a religious story at all, Devil Harry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Hate to Love, Heaven & Hell, Immortality, Louis is an atheist and Harry debunks a lot of religious lore, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Suicide Attempts, Recreational Drug Use, Reincarnation, They both bottom but don't read this for the smut you'll be disappointed, Voodoo, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesshalo/pseuds/princesshalo
Summary: “Jesus Christ!” Louis yells as he jumps back in reaction to Harry once again popping up out of nowhere.Harry doesn’t even flinch.“Quite the opposite.” He jokes, holding out one of the drinks for Louis to take. A freshly sizzling vodka Red Bull; his favorite.Louis’s initial reaction is the thoughtyou remembered.His rational brain says, “No thanks.”“Louis.” Harry says it like a concerned parent, the tone of it matching the way his mum used to sayBoo Bear, you have to eat your vegetables to grow up big and strong,and that ignites something feral within him.“Satan.” He counters, same tone coupled with a glare and a pair of arms crossed over his chest.-Louis used to be good friends with Harry, until he woke up alone and immortal with no one to blame but The Devil himself.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 113
Kudos: 334
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. You know how writers love to pour their whole heart and soul into something, only to decide that anything they've ever written belongs at the very bottom of a landfill as soon as it's complete? Here is my garbage story for you all. :)
> 
> A thousand and one thank yous to the artist, [Ari](https://howharrymetlouis.tumblr.com), who's lovely, amazing work you'll find below and in the fic post that will be linked at the end of each chapter.
> 
> And an extra thousand to the Brit picker, [Emma](https://sashinalash.tumblr.com), as well. My embarrassingly American ass could not have presented a proper final product without her expertise and attention to detail.
> 
>  **Notes/disclaimers:** This story deals with some heavier stuff at times, so just be prepared and aware. If you feel overwhelmed by any of it, please feel free to click out and go on with your life as usual. :) 
> 
> It is loosely inspired by the show Lucifer on Netflix - but with an original plot.
> 
> I do not own or personally know any of the celebrities depicted in this story, and none of the opinions or ideals they express necessarily reflect my own beliefs. 
> 
> Title obviously snagged from Kill My Mind.
> 
> With all that being said, happy reading my dears!

Louis has learned to separate his life into two parts: The Before and After.

The Before was vibrant, it was carefree in a solid and effortless sense. It was living in the moment, finding joy in the little things, taking the ups and downs with gratitude and knowing there was always more beauty on the way. Despite the certain amount of independence he’d earned since moving to London, it remained centered in family. He spoke to his mum on the phone every day, even if there was nothing in particular to report. The sound of her voice soothed him, her laughter brought him comfort, her advice gave him things to consider even when he decided not to take it.

He had a certain kind of relationship with each of his six younger sisters and an almost entirely different one with his single little brother. Lottie was his closest friend and favorite little gossip. If there was something either of them would rather keep from mum to avoid a lecture, they’d share with each other instead. Fizzy was the quietest of the bunch, but she had a secret wild side that led to Louis often having to talk her out of things with a story or two of his own. Daisy and Phoebe kept in regular contact by majority sharing memes back and forth on a daily basis. Louis didn’t spend much time online himself, but he always found himself laughing along at their goofy sense of humor. And Doris and Ernie were just toddlers when he left home, but the two things they loved most on Earth were mountains of toys and sticking their heads on screen whenever Louis FaceTimed someone else at home. He was especially proud of any stupid baby thing that Ernie did, from blowing snot bubbles to running naked through the house instead of letting mum change him. Although he was bursting at the seams with love for each and every one of them, something about finally adding another lad to the mix made him glow with pride for virtually no reason. 

The Before was filled with childhood mates and University lads and big city faces; one in particular that changed absolutely everything. Louis hadn’t realised it at the time, but from the moment he met Harry there was a certain amount of chaos in his life that existed in a different way than Before. Like he never could predict how the day would end.

The After was weary and grey. It was days and nights blurred into one another, a string of hollow hearts and dragging limbs made of nothing but heavy bones. It was falling off the face of the earth, it was cutting lifelong ties like they were nothing and letting any crumble of concern for himself or anyone else fall out of focus. The person from Before who’d have gone to the edge of the Earth for any one of them packed his things and left nothing but an empty shell behind.

The After was like being lost in woods hugged by fog so thick it felt counteractive to take a step in any direction. The After was curling up in a pile of leaves and waiting to die.

The only appropriate way to refer to the agonising reality of watching your entire family family burn to death in a house fire was _tragedy_.

And Louis’s tragedy shattered him into a mess of broken shards that didn’t even seem to originate from the same glass bottle; scrambled up every bit of his insides and left him an unrecognisable pile of sharp edges with no other purpose than to be swept into the bin. For years he wandered aimlessly through the endless hours of daylight, spent so many nights sobbing himself to sleep that it became a part of his muscle memory even when his eyes proved themselves empty of tears.

He tried overdosing, he tried bullets in his head and through his chest, even attempted a good old fashioned hanging once upon a time. But with each attempt, the drugs would work their way out of his system in cold sweats and empty vomits, the bloody wounds would dry to congeal his flesh and skin back together, and the rope etched bruises would fade away mere days later. And with each attempt, Louis would muster all his might to keep avoiding the truth of his newfound immortality.

He flooded his brain with booze and benzos and when that failed, he searched for solace in a slew of whatever else he could find. He’d always been something of a reckless type; living for late nights and itching for wild rides, never giving much thought to the long term effects of his impulses in the name of grabbing life by the balls, but things were dangerously amplified in The After.

Eventually, his grief left him so starved for some tiny semblance of relief that acceptance became the only place to turn, because every other useless venue he’d explored to avoid reality only seemed to agitate it further. And he was no idiot; he was just so unfathomably _hurt._ It hurt to even consider the depth of how hurt he was.

But eventually, there was nothing else left to do.

He’d already discovered that after a single day of sweaty cleansing his mind had gained the strength of recovery in matched quantity as his invincible body, so getting clean was the easy part.

Once sober, though, he was still left to sit with all the haunting images of flickering fires, the unbearable heat and bloodcurdling screams to accompany it all, and the other, much more unspeakable things like how it was the Devil himself who managed to lift him out of the flames. 

He found a therapist specialized in dealing PTSD and trauma recovery and in contrast, she was an ever-patient angel for handling all the work he threw at her. All his tantrums, outbursts, denial, and confusion was met with nothing but care and understanding. He liked that she even knew how to give him a good kick in the nuts every now and then; whenever he let himself fall too far, her hand would be there to pull him towards the way again. Not a single minute of it went without struggle, but he wouldn’t have even known where to begin without her. 

Four years into The After, the agony of being left alone did burn itself out and left him with the echo of nothing at all, which was somehow even worse.

Though physically indestructible, Louis was still human. Together they decided it might be best for him to get a fresh start, away from the same settings that would be forever etched into his mind as the backdrop for the worst times of his life.

The After had left him homeless in more ways than he knew how to describe, but through the mountains of shit and mud he still managed to face towards the bright side; no roots or direction left him with the freedom of the world at his feet. He didn’t care where he ended up because he didn’t know what he was looking for beyond a completely fresh start, so he figured random was as good as anything.

Berlin may not have been the smartest option, what with him having done absolutely no research about what it would be like to live as an English expat in Germany, but it was the most exciting location on the departures board that evening, so that’s where he leaped to without looking back.

**

“Let’s go to KitKat tonight.” Louis says, leading the cleaning cloth in thorough circles round the worktop behind the old timber bar.

These days he found happiness in his simple existence. He worked at the Naturales Weinbar with his best mate who doubled as his flatmate and just like in The Before, there wasn’t a thing on Earth that he wouldn’t do for her if it came down to it.

Bebe moved to Berlin from Brooklyn while on a short holiday from her American University, when she met Louis at the hostel they were both staying at and he went off on some drunken tangent about how he’d packed up and moved cities on a whim. Apparently that inspired her to cancel her return flight home, and he admired the hell out of her spontaneity. 

_You’re mental for that_ is what he actually said to her face, but she simply grinned and said she knew that already. He never did believe in love at first sight, but from that moment on, he knew his heart was meant for hers.

She laughs, “The last time we went to KitKat you took E from a stranger and tried to get _me_ into one of the beds.”

Naturales was just a tiny, dimly lit space contained within one long room that stretched to the back of the building. The bar cut it down the middle and it was there that they served small plates of mostly bread and cheeses along with an ever changing selection of wines imported from several EU nations. Most importantly, Louis was in desperate need of work when he arrived, so when the hostel bartender turned him down but mentioned a place she knew was currently hiring, the only question he had from there was whether they had room for Bebe too.

A rainy Tuesday night never saw much action for them though, which meant there was no risk of any guests eavesdropping on their uncensored business. And anybody who did could fuck right off anyway.

“In my defence, your skin was very soft and glittery that night.” Louis acquiesces.

“Not the point.” Bebe rolls her eyes, “Imagine the disaster had I not been sober enough to turn you down.”

“You wouldn’t be able to satisfy me anyway.” Louis dismisses with a wave of his hand. 

“I mean, being flattened by a steam roller would probably feel like Heaven on E, so I’m fairly sure I could.” She snorts a laugh.

“Maybe we should try the steamroller tonight, then.” Louis laughs along at his own sick joke.

“I have to open tomorrow.” Bebe tries to be rational, never mind that he can sense how much willpower it takes her to say, “You know we won’t get home till 6am.”

“Which gives you plenty of time for a nap before we open at _3pm_.” Louis gives her bullshit excuse a very pointed look.

“But you know I have to get ready at 1 to be at the station by 2 to make it in by 2:30 so that I’ll have the place ready by 3.” She argues, “And only 6 hours of beauty sleep isn’t doing anyone any favours.”

“That’s true, you do tend to look like a troll with any less than 8.” He agrees.

“Rude, but you’re not wrong.” She pouts.

“We’ll call it an early night, then.” He promises.

“Yeah, in bed by 2am after close.” Bebe leans against the bar with her rebuttal.

“So that’s a firm no?” Louis whines.

“Why don’t you take this next customer while I hide in the store room to mull it over?” She nods towards the door behind his back.

“Because we both know that just means a delayed no, rather than an immediate one.” Louis sucks his teeth at her as the bell dings to alert a customer. The sound of steady rainfall outside fills the tiny space for just a moment before it swings shut a moment later.

Louis turns around and swears the pulse of his own heart actually vanishes, frozen in its tracks along with the rest of him.

The distinct figure brings a drop to the very pit of his stomach, because it’s one he remembers all too well. One he’s tried to pretend was all just some wild fever dream.

The face is the whole reason he ran away from London to begin with. It brings a rush of heat through his veins, a deep seething to the depths of his soul.

A thousand images of midnight laughter and drinks clinked in cheers rattle his brain, chased quickly by the sting of screams, ear shattering even in the form of faded memories, lifetimes old.

He almost reaches up to rub his eyes into clarity, which would be easier than to accept the truth standing before him. The monster who ruined his entire mortal life could not possibly have found him in some random back alley of a random country that never even crossed his mind long enough to mention in The Before.

And yet, those wild woodsy curls, the carved jawline, the bright eyes of the serpent from his worst nightmares are definitely there. Staring back at him, mimicking something like the slicing open of flesh down the middle of his chest, spilling all his darkest secrets for the world to look upon in ridicule.

“How the bloody hell did you find me here?” Louis has to work very hard to keep his voice just short of a shout.

The few patrons at the bar look towards him and then the door to see what the commotion is about, but the thick silence between the two of them overpowers any urges an outsider might have to comment.

“Good to see you again, too.” Harry tilts just one side of his mouth up into a smile that could only be described as completely wretched in Louis’s book.

He approaches the bar and Louis feels himself overheating a tick more with each step closer, finds himself on the verge of volcanic eruption as he watches Harry slide himself into an empty seat without a fucking care in the world. He slides the black peacoat off his shoulders and hangs it over the back of his chair, turning to lean his elbows on the bar and rest his chin on his palms.

“I’ll take that to mean you haven’t missed me, then?” He bats his lashes in exaggerated charm.

Louis just blinks, dumbfounded. Is he serious? Is he actually serious?

A glass slips between his limp fingers and falls to the floor, shattering in a rather dramatic fashion.

“Louis!” Bebe frets, tossing her cleaning cloth onto the counter in a hurry to retrieve the broom and dustpan from the back cupboard.

Harry’s just there, eyes glued to Louis’s, supplying a thousand different memories of all the laughs they shared, all the football games and lunch dates and shopping days, all the concert nights and philosophical chats punctuated by stupid, fake fights about things like which shows should’ve won an Emmy or their differing opinions on avocadoes.

The entire montage of their friendship is all contaminated with notes of death and sorrow. Flashes of flaming skin and unearthly wailing, sounds and images so utterly encompassing that Louis would’ve killed himself to escape from them. That he wished was even still in the realm of possibility for him to do.

“Sorry, Bee.” Louis absently grabs for the broom she returns with.

“Do you need a minute?” She’s purely concerned as she waves a hand in front of his eyes to stir his attention, “You look positively reddened right now.”

“Actually yeah, if you don’t mind.” He accepts, still all too aware of the pair of eyes fixated on his every movement as he turns to address the mess at his feet. “It’s… a lot.”

Everything feels so slow and blurry. The edges of his view don’t seem like they’re even there. His focus is just hyper fixated on everything he wishes he didn’t know about Harry fucking Styles.

“I'm not going to pretend to understand,” Her voice hits him like it’s being yelled through a wind tunnel, “But just sweep up and go get some fresh nicotine.”

Normally he’d spare a chuckle. It’s their way of telling each other to take a break, because between the two of them that always includes going out to roll a cigarette, which is quite obviously the complete opposite of getting some fresh air.

This time he just starts brushing the broken glass towards the pan in a trance. He refuses to look up, afraid he might actually puke from the sight of his worst nightmare manifested in human form before him, but he can’t shut his ears off to the low mumble of Harry’s voice requesting a sweet red from Italy paired with a jamon plate.

How dare he not only appear out of absolutely fucking nowhere, but actually walk inside, actually sit down, and actually order something? The absolute chaos of it all. The nerve. As if he planned to stay? As if he were what, hoping for a chat with Louis like they’d have done in the good ol’ days? As if he completely forgot to remember the fact that Louis ended their “good ol’ days” after Harry’s display of his true form amidst the death of his entire family. That tiny, minor little detail.

The family he still wept for. The family who used to lean on each other, who stuck together through hard times and harder times, the family that meant everything to him. The family that Harry may just as well have took from Louis with his own two hands.

It must be at least 10 minutes later that he finally empties the pan in the bin and steps outside. His whole body claws towards the urge to run, to just bolt down the glistening streets into the rainy night and far away from the place he’d been so grateful for only moments ago. To just leave all his things behind and hop on the nearest plane to Anywhere But Here and start anew again.

But the nasty voice in the back of his head has been telling him for years that Harry could find him at any moment if he so wished, and now those fears have been confirmed. The question is why the fuck did he decide now was a good time to show up again?

He’d checked to make sure that Harry was still tied up in conversation with the guest nearest to him before making his escape out the side door of the bar, and yet somehow, no sooner than Louis presses the filter of a freshly rolled cig between his lips does a tattooed arm stretch out with the flame of a lighter to catch the tip.

“Allow me.” That same old slow drawl grates against his eardrums.

“You’ve done enough, thanks.” Louis pulls away quickly as he can, but regrettably the flame has already sparked. He drops it just as quickly to watch it sizzle out in a puddle at his feet and turns to push the door open with the intent of hiding in the back room again.

“Wait, please.” Harry says. It sounds like a bit of a beg at first, but is very clearly established as a command when suddenly the door becomes far too heavy for Louis’s human arms to force open. He presses both palms flat against it and pushes with every ounce of power in him before finally huffing in defeat.

“Fuck!” He kicks the door in frustration. Why couldn’t his affliction have blessed him with superhuman strength too?

He still refuses to look back at his visitor. His breath is heavy, the heat from his core blooming onto his face as the soft patter of raindrops on concrete lingers between them.

What could Harry possibly have to say that would make up for what he’s done?

“Louis.” His voice, that fucking voice. Louis’s heart clenches around it.

Since he’s obviously not going inside until Harry gets whatever it is he came for, he pulls the case from his pocket and selects another cig, lighting it without a word.

“I’m sorry, okay? Please.” Harry is definitely begging this time.

Louis takes what is most certainly the longest drag of his life. He focuses on watching the brief ripples appear and then vanish in the blackened puddles of the streetlights in the distance. He tries not to picture the shape of the pout that he knows Harry’s lips have taken. Tries to resist that all too powerful trance he knows Harry could easily pull him into.

“I think I’ve found a way to undo it.” He finally offers something to grab Louis’s attention. Minimally.

Louis looks up ever so slightly, still not staring directly at the face of the traitor beside him, but more of a peripheral side glance.

“Well, have you or haven’t you?” His voice comes out harsher than even he expected.

“I can’t be sure until we try.” Harry says, “It’s not as if reversing immortality is a subject heavily researched.”

“Until?” Louis asks, taking another hit, carelessly blowing it towards Harry’s bubble of personal space. “That’s an awfully solid assumption for you to make.”

“You don’t seem to have any other options.” Harry observes.

“Another assumption.” Louis counters.

“A logical one, based on the fact that you’re still here in the waking world with the rest of us, despite your best wishes.” Harry points out.

Louis fully turns to him now, studying for the first time in so many years. He can’t count how often he’d let his eyes linger in The Before, when he’d never have admitted it even if caught red-handed.

Harry’s still tall, still got that certain baby-faced maturity about him, like he could definitely do some damage if you push him to it, but also that he might be the sweetest cherub you’ll ever meet if you choose to play your cards that way instead. His hair is chunky curls cut short and his eyes bright moss even under cover of nightfall. He’s dressed classily as ever; a white tank tucked into his black, high waisted trousers. Pointy white flats to match and an oversized red and brown velvet blazer to tie it all together.

He always did style himself with a bit of personality, but this particular look is just peak Devil. As if it was exactly his intention to lure all those memories of candid afterlife confessions to the light of Louis’s mind. As if Louis could ever forget.

“What is it that we’d be trying, exactly?” He takes the bait, hesitant to believe whatever comes next but abhorrently curious what Harry might have found anyway.

He did have a solid point; it’s not as if Google holds an array of secret recipes to undo supernatural afflictions such as his own. There was a time in Louis’s life that he was desperate enough to try, but biological immortality is still classified as an impossibility by official human standards, and even the most famed libraries don’t offer much in the way of legends or unproven theories. For some completely bonkers reason, it seems as if humanity is striving more to obtain immortality rather than reverse it.

A curse gifted by the Devil himself could probably only be undone by the Devil himself. And if even Louis had to dig for the answer, where else would one even turn to for help? The Higher Powers? The same ones who, for reasons Louis had evolved past trying to understand, had brought the Devil into his life to begin with?

“Could we talk about this somewhere else?” The question may as well be an arrow through Louis’s heart, and not in the romantic way. Or the death way, which Louis would strongly prefer. It’s just all the physical pain without an ounce of relief in sight.

“Could you bring my family back to life instead?” Louis counter questions, sucking in a drag of nicotine. Knowing the answer is _no_ on both fronts.

“You know it doesn’t work that way. You know I’d have done that long ago.” Harry says.

“Then I’d really prefer to spend the rest of my time here away from you, as promised.” Louis flicks some ash onto the glistening stones beneath his shoes.

The rain picks up ever so slightly, as if in contrasting sync with the silence between them.

Harry stares back like it pains him to even be there. Like he’d been hoping that Louis had cooled down by now and the realisation that that wasn’t going to happen was officially unavoidable.

“Okay then.” Harry sighs. “If you change your mind…”

Louis’s wrist stings suddenly, like a bug bite or something. He yelps, dropping his cig for the second time in favour of swatting at the area.

There’s nothing alive, but instead a string of numbers inked onto his skin, angry and red like the taste in his mouth at the biting memories leftover by their last encounter.

+44 6666 666666

He remembers the first time Harry gave him his phone number, how Louis laughed out loud like it was some kind of joke.

**

Harry was playing a set at the basement spot where Louis worked back in London, getting through a whole opening number before Harry’s attention settled on him behind the bar.

He instantly grinned from ear to ear like he’d just shared a laugh with an old friend. The illuminated stage made his eyes sparkle and highlighted his dimples from across the room. Louis found himself smiling back without even thinking about it. He popped a hip out and leaned over the bar, propping his chin up with his fist to give his full attention to the rest of the show.

_You don’t have to say you love me_

_You don’t have to say nothing_

_You don’t have to say you’re mine_

He remembers the tune to this day, it haunts him like the trigger to signal the beginning of the end of life as he knew it.

To give credit where it’s due, Louis did find himself wiggling to the beat that night. It felt a little bit like it was aimed at him with the way Harry kept sparing sideways glances, although the words were far too devoted for that to be anywhere near the truth. Whoever he did write them for seemed to have it made.

_Walk through fire for you,_

_Just let me adore you_

_Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do_

By the end of the song Louis was even humming along to the words while mixing his drinks.

It was during a slower lull near the end of the night when he finally had a moment to wipe down the worktops that Harry finally leaned over the bar with a small smirk still playing at his lips.

“I know those eyes.” He said, such a corny line that Louis had to brush it off.

“Finished a whole set and that’s all you came up with?” He shook his head, “6/10, but only for the serenade.”

“Only six?” Harry pouted.

“Minus four for the God-awful line you just dropped.” Louis felt the tease clinging to every word. From the beginning it was just effortless, natural banter.

“Not exactly a God.” Harry smirked, “But glad you enjoyed the show.”

“I did. Your sound is… interesting.” Louis had looked him up and down, assessing his whole look that seemed to personify the tunes that grooved and waved around into sunshine and sorrow all at once.

“I’ve had some time to perfect it.” Harry said as his black polished nails picked a cherry from behind the bar to place between his teeth. “Eons.”

“Don’t touch that.” Louis swiped the box off the counter, quickly scanning the room to make sure his boss hadn’t happened to be around.

“My bad.” He chewed it anyway. “Could I just get a Vodka Red Bull, then? Top shelf.”

Louis pauses for a moment, because he heard the order a good handful of times a day, but it felt significant on Harry’s lips somehow. Like this fit stranger just happening to walk into his bar, play one of the best sets he’s heard from a local musician in a while, only to march right over to him specifically and order his favourite drink with such a smug flirtation couldn’t be just the biggest coincidence on the face of the planet.

“Got a long night ahead or something?” He asked, turning to grab the Grey Goose from the lineup of bottles behind him. It was already late, but that order always suggested the night had just begun.

“No rest for the wicked.” Harry said.

“Wicked, are you?” Louis laughed, cracking the Red Bull open next.

“If you only knew.” Harry smiled softer this time, revealing a charming little pair of dimples that managed to pique Louis’s interest.

It’s not as if it was uncommon for bartenders to be a sort of sounding board for their guests, and Louis had enough experience to know that the ones you managed to form a connection with, however brief, always left an extra buck or two as a thank you.

“Tell me.” He said, placing the glass on a napkin in front of Harry’s crossed arms. “What exactly makes you so wicked?”

Harry simply stared at him in a way that seemed to stretch a single moment into decades with the depth of it.

“I could show you.” He finally said, leaning slightly forward to sip from his drink.

Since his attention was stuck on Louis’s eyes, the ends of his girlishly long hair dipped into the top of his glass as his lips struggled to find the straw. Louis smirked as he watched them finally suction around the tip of it to suck down a gulp.

When he sat up straight again, he snorted at his own clumsiness and the fizzy liquid shot out of his nose.

“Oops.” He continued to laugh at himself as he reached for the napkin squares to wipe his mess. “Swear I’m not usually this charming.”

“Are you high?” Louis only half-joked as he wrang out a cloth to clean the stickiness.

“A little.” Harry admitted. “Want some?”

Louis hesitated. He really shouldn’t have been indulging on the clock, but there’d always been a part of him that didn’t take much to tug to the wrong side of the tracks. He loved that chaotic energy about Harry from the beginning.

“Depends what you’ve got.” He focused on the swirl of his hand as he wiped down the glossy surface between them.

“Depends what you’re looking for.” Harry said.

“Probably couldn’t get away with more than a spliff at work.” He considered.

“Then meet me after.” Harry had this way of batting his lashes that Louis could only compare to a fox in a sheep suit. And Louis happened to be fond of both foxes and sheep.

“You some kind of kingpin or something?” He asked.

“Or something.” Harry grinned, plucking a toothpick to chew between his teeth.

Louis was pulled away to go and help another customer, followed by a small late-night rush. He’d all but forgotten about the devilish grin until he finally circled back around to find that the only things left in Harry’s seat were an empty glass, a few big notes, and a napkin with a series of sixes in the format of a phone number; his name in all caps underneath.

Louis snorted.

He did try to dial the ridiculous number after closing time, though. Maybe out of pure curiosity, but more honestly probably out of actual intrigue. He was shocked that anybody actually picked up, let alone that it was Harry’s real voice that answered.

Nonetheless, Harry made good on his offer. One home invite later, they did a few lines or more, and he refused to even accept payment. Insisted he was happy to share and it was no trouble at all.

So, completely wired at 3 am, they stayed up till sunrise just talking and laughing.

Harry was fun. He was smart and witty, a bit of a dork and yet simultaneously way too cool to even talk to Louis. At the young age of only 21, he was impressively well off, connected in circles far above any social status Louis would ever dream of reaching, and he told stories of his life ventures in a way that felt like writing. If a person could edit and backspace their thoughts out loud, Louis would hush everyone in the room while Harry worked on his.

He couldn’t say how many times they refreshed their buzz. Maybe it was all the drugs, maybe the early morning hours, or maybe it was Harry’s cascading waves of shiny hair and the eyes that Louis could swear he knew from somewhere, but he found himself not wanting the night to end and that felt dangerous in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“So there I am in the middle of the pig pen, covered in mud, like, literally soaked into my hair, clothes, shoes - ugh!” Harry shuddered as he retold some crazy story about living with Hawaiian locals ‘back in the day’ as he put it. He had a lot of stories about this mysterious back in the day period of his life that didn’t seem to add up. How could he possibly have been in the States and Japan at the same time? How could the best mate from each of his stories be a well fit welder and an old cat lady and a fucking Amish farm boy all at once? Was he just a pathological liar getting his kicks from this, and most concerning, did Louis even give a shit about the validity of it all?

“You’re the fucking Devil.” He blurted, staring at Harry in a way that perfectly balanced between utter fascination and adoration.

Harry froze, his eyes widening like a deer in headlights. He didn’t say anything at first, but then his brows slowly scrunched together.

“How did you know?” Louis didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed with the question like he was swallowing his own saliva.

“What?” He chuckled, not sure what kind of response he’d been expecting but it definitely wasn’t that. How high were they, exactly?

“Oh, fuck. You didn’t mean like—of course not.” Harry stumbled, shaking his head out of it, “Nevermind. Nothing. Forget it. What did you mean, though?”

_Just that you feel too much like a risk I shouldn’t take, and that sounds exactly like a challenge I can’t resist._

“Nevermind. Nothing. Forget it.” Louis smirked.

He decided he didn’t care if Harry was lying or not. He told interesting stories. He had a good vibe. The banter was priceless. 

So when he showed up at the bar a few days later, slid into a seat, and began chatting up a storm like they were already lifelong friends, Louis fell right into step with him. It quickly became something a routine, to the point where Louis began to hope that Harry would appear to help him pass time till the end of his shifts. And if it turned out that he was off doing other things, there was a bit of disappointment at his absence. 

Louis did have other friends, of course. But Stan was a new father with minimal free time and Oli worked the night shift elsewhere, and his colleagues were just fine company, but not near as entertaining as Harry. 

Looking back, he probably should’ve run as soon as Harry looked him in the eye and said with complete conviction, “ _You should know, I actually am the Devil_.”

And yet, he’s not really sure he ever had the power to.

He did have the power to laugh in Harry’s face, though. And when Harry just sipped his drink without another word, that captured Louis’s attention.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What have you done to make you think you’re such a bad guy?” Louis asked as he continued to polish and hang the glasses to dry.

“It’s nothing I’ve done.” Harry shrugged. “It’s just who I am.” 

“Yeah, but why?” He pressed on, “Did you kill someone or something? Have you done time? Just got one of those sob stories about how someone broke your heart when you were fifteen so now you run around breaking everyone else’s?”

“None of the above.” Harry chuckled, “I have been known to break hearts here and there, but I’m more often the one that ends up broken. And I’ve never been fifteen.”

“Well, now that’s two things I’m not buying about you.” Louis rolled his eyes, choosing to address the more logical of the two, “Who could break the heart of a face like that?” 

He smiled that time, but it was soft and pensive. His eyes fell down to his drink as he traced around the rim of his glass. 

“You.” He said when he looked up again, locking their eyes with each other. 

Louis scoffed, unable to hold back the grin on his face regardless. Harry was just so charming, and he very clearly knew it.

“Ah. You’re good at that.” He said, turning his back to wipe down the worktop behind the bar. “So is it just the romance thing, then? That’s got you convinced you must be the Devil himself?”

“More like the constant travelling to Hell and back.” He said, and this time Louis turned back around to face him directly, because he seemed concerningly sincere in his elaboration, “The demon soldiers, the soul transactions, the general oversight of an endless torture operation.”

Louis blinked, stunned into silence. A rare feat for him. He’d only known Harry for a couple weeks at this point and was debating whether or not to add more time onto that.

“You said you were an account manager.” Louis reminded him.

“Technically true.” Harry shrugged. “The accounts are just souls of the damned.”

If Harry really did believe he was the Devil, then that little delusion on top of everything else had solidified his spot as the single most intriguing person Louis had ever met. So maybe he wasn’t totally ready to run yet, but he did have his limits.

“Listen mate, I’m not even sure I believe there’s an afterlife.” He leaned both his arms against the bar so there was only about a foot between them. “So if you genuinely, seriously expect me to believe that you’re some kind of ruler of the evil dead, you’re off your trolley.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to believe it.” Harry lifted his whiskey to his lips for a sip before going on, “But the funny thing about the truth is that it remains true regardless.”

Louis waited for the punchline that never fucking came because Harry just kept staring at him without budging an inch. He must have been playing some sort of game to see how far Louis was willing to buy into all his stories. 

“Well then, if you’re the Devil then I’m the fucking Loch Ness Monster.” He acquiesced.

Harry just smiled back, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. Then he asked the name of Louis’s tailor, because his human suit was both functional and flawless, and Louis laughed as they continued to piss around about their supernatural abilities, and the night picked up as they went for more debauchery after his shift until he’d forgotten all about the odd conversation by the next morning.

It did come up again eventually, and of course he never bought into any of Harry’s claims, but that didn’t seem to matter to Harry one bit. And Louis would pick a quirky person over a boring one any day, so if Harry wanted to hang around, it didn’t take much for Louis to recognize that he was happy to be there to hang around with. 

When they started meeting for lunch, he found that Harry had a knack for knowing the best food spots in the city, despite that Louis had lived there longer. He discovered a hidden songwriting talent when Harry began to run his music by him for ideas and it became more of a combined effort than either of them expected. Harry wasn’t big on sports, but he’d give his best effort for a game of footy as long as it was with Louis. And when they didn’t have the excuse of an activity to see each other outside the bar, a day of running errands or bumming around in their pyjamas was just as commonplace.

They were friends. Harry was the best friend he’d ever had.

And the absolute worst.

**

Louis always spent Christmas at his childhood home in Doncaster, and Harry wasn’t in touch with his own family, and the idea of that was scandalous to someone who relied so heavily on his own, and so began the tradition of Harry coming along too.

Of course, the Tomlinsons were happy to have him. Harry fit right into the chaos of their life. The screaming children and cousins, his mum’s overbearing affection, his nan’s vulgarity. The sisters all tackled him in a different way, with Lottie wanting to flirt and befriend the same way Louis did, Fizzy wanting to pick his brain for any inspiration she could find, the eldest twins begging to do his makeup, and the babies just happy to have anyone to bring their endless mounds of toys to.

Nothing had ever made Louis happier in the Before, or sadder to remember in the After.

He woke in the middle of the night to a chorus of screeching throughout the house. He’ll never forget the crack of surrounding flames, thick clouds of charcoal smoke strangling his lungs as he jumped out of bed and tried to run towards their voices, muscles reacting purely out of instinct. The alarms shrieking overhead to tie it all together.

He wasn’t able to reach any of them before the heat rendered his lungs useless, his limbs rubber, his body immobile. It had already spread too far by the time he even gained consciousness to realize what was happening. The last thing he recalls is collapsing on the carpet in the upstairs corridor as the cries of his loved ones that still haunt him in his sleep faded into black.

And then he woke up again, which wasn’t supposed to happen.

And the chill of the winter air prickled his skin to life, because he was suddenly outside, which also stirred some confusion.

And Harry was leaning over him, which didn’t add up at all.

And he was mumbling something unintelligible in a language that Louis wasn’t even sure existed.

His skin was pure embers dotted against blacked ash, tiny flakes floating off as if he had been burned to a crisp yet somehow managed to survive while the remnants of skin still singed on. The wings sprouted from behind his charred torso were the same, and they seemed massive enough to span far beyond the length of his lanky figure, though in the moment they cocooned around Louis’s limp body like a shield from the chaos of flames and crumbling foundation behind them. It was so impossibly hot that if Louis hadn’t felt like he was floating in some kind of purgatory limbo, he’d have screamed his own lungs raw from the agony of being burned alive.

He was sure he must have died already and it was all just some elaborate nightmare before fading out of existence, but Harry was very clearly still breathing, still chanting while he cradled Louis’s head in his lap with his own head tilted up towards the heavens as the fire raged on. And somewhere in all his incoherent chanting he began to beg, actually beg in a tone so hollow and deep it didn’t sound like something a normal human should be able to contain within them.

“Please don’t do this,” The falter of his booming voice came in stark contrast to the absolute monstrosity it escaped from, “Please, I can’t do it alone anymore. Please.”

And suddenly Louis believed everything Harry had ever said about Devils and demons and death.

**

He gasps out loud, his hand flying up to press against his chest and feel for the rapid pulse of his heart as he centers himself back to the present moment. His eyes dart around the darkened alley, now left empty and silent save for the sound of his own breath and the light rainfall around him.

None of the memories felt any more real than they had on the actual night nearly half a decade ago. It still felt like some fucking crazy nightmare that he’d been lucky to have banished from his brain for the more recent years of his life.

The only proof he had that it all actually happened was the empty space in his heart where the rest of his family should be, and the fresh ink numbers now stained into his skin.

Fuck Harry for all of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis does manage to drag Bebe out to KitKat, two nights later when they both have the next day off. He avoided her prying questions about his reaction to Harry by glossing it all over, explaining that he was just an old friend who left him in a time of need. And being the glorious sunshine of a human being that she is, she offered to cheer him up in the best way she knew how.

Internally, he’d managed to convince himself once again that Harry was just some weird blip on the radar of the past he ran from. He couldn’t have actually showed up in some random corner of the planet, certainly not because he was looking for Louis, and even if that bizarre encounter really did happen, it wasn’t like it mattered anyway because things were different now. Louis was different now.

Or was he? Because suddenly his favourite club wasn’t feeling like much more than an empty distraction from the horror storm brewing above his head, preparing to downpour all over his life at any moment.

He tries to shoo the swarm of worries away on the dance floor, choosing to get lost in the hypnotic techno beats of the band playing the room to the left. Bebe is a vision as she sways under the strobe lights in her nylon bodysuit, and for just a moment he actually manages to relax as he chugs the last of his drink, closes his eyes, and lets the sweaty sea of people welcome him into escape.

They dance for hours. He doesn’t know how else to capture the essence of the music except that the singer sounds like a spectre and her bandmates the sirens luring in their faithful army. Each melody blends so seamlessly into the next that Louis begins to lose track of where one song ends and another begins. And it’s there with his best mate Bebe and their even better friend Molly that the world starts to make some semblance of sense again.

Louis can only bear to move on when the dry crack of his throat begs him to quench his thirst.

He reaches for Bebe’s hand and she follows without question, still bopping her head side to side as they let the fading music lead them to the main room where there’s a bar and several pools to cool off with.

Louis just needs some water and a spliff though, so he doesn’t object when Bebe grabs a couple bottles and slides onto a cushioned bench to roll up for them both.

“Pick one.” She says as she tucks the baccy mix into the crinkly paper between her fingers.

She’s playing the game where they try to guess the one person in the room that the other would go home with. It can’t start until one of them already has someone in mind, so Louis swivels around to get a good view of the room laid out before them.

It’s a good thing phones aren’t allowed in sex clubs, because in the span of of exactly thirty seconds, Louis is able to spot about a dozen sights that should absolutely be kept from social media.

On the furthest side of the largest pool in the middle of the room, a woman with cat ears on her head gyrates on the lap of a dude with a latex mask on, mouth unzipped for their lips to lock while they fuck. The leather couch on the wall to the left hosts a group of twinks in their shortest shorts and stilettos, laughing as they clink their glasses together in a toast. A woman of Amazonian proportions proudly sports a pink collar around her neck as the much smaller woman holding her leash demands a sit, then rewards her for being a good girl.

Louis nods towards the man in a skintight Batman suit with the backside cut out. He’s got strong arms, dark skin, a thick beard, and a cock so big it strains against the fabric to make itself noticeable from across the room.

“Dammit.” Bebe sucks her teeth as she hands him the finished product.

“You’re too easy.” He chuckles, sticking it between his lips to light up.

“I like what I like.” She shrugs, attention still glued to the eye candy as she accepts the flame Louis holds out to her.

“My turn.” He says around the breath he’s holding in.

“The bartender.” Bebe picks right away, though they’re still facing the opposite direction. Louis has to turn all the way around, where his eyes instantly connect with the tall sweaty guy pouring drinks and looking unfairly like a Beckham doppelganger.

“Hm. Guess I have a type too.” Louis admits defeat and the two of them laugh as they continue with their second and third choices.

Around the jacuzzi platform off to the right, his gaze lands on a couple snogging against the wall. The smaller one’s back is sun kissed and golden against the contrast of his chain-link trousers and the milky hand dragging its hot pink nails down the skin. The one with his back against the wall is taller, with a head of curls that look so familiar it sends a swoop through Louis’s stomach.

Still, he’s mesmerized for a moment, quirking his head to the side as he watches them really go at each other. The one pressed to the wall has a hand grabbing at the other’s roots and he’s wondering if they can even breathe through how fiercely their mouths tear at each other’s. The golden boy shoves a hand into the front of the other one’s glitter spanx shorts, and then that curly head turns up to look directly at Louis as if he knows exactly who he’s being watched by.

His puffed lips hang open to catch his breath and his emerald meeting Louis’s cerulean is completely unmistakable. Louis’s stomach actually lurches like he might lose all the drinks he’s been pouring into it since they arrived.

Fight or flight instinct activated, he hops up from their bench and shouts something about needing a wee. Bebe calls after him, but he isn’t exactly thinking rationally, he just knows he has to hide himself before Harry can what, leave the borderline sex show he’s about to initiate to follow after him? It doesn’t make logical sense, but neither does fucking anything about Harry, and Louis doesn’t want to be anywhere near whenever he does decide to break away.

He clumsily pushes and swerves his way through the sticky crowd, downstairs to where the dungeons are, and only once fully descended into a world of whips and chains and beds and feathers can his breathing begin to regulate again. The main room is washed in a neon blue glow and the bedrooms each have their own color too. He walks past a yellow room, past a pink and a purple one, until he settles for standing just outside the door of the green room where some woman is bent over a table being flogged by her master while people gather around to watch her writhe and beg.

It’s kind of hot and at least interesting enough to grab his attention, so he waits it out for two more tool changes; a few dozen smacks with a paddle and then the nipple clamps come out. Then those remind him of a hookup the Bebe once recalled in great detail, in which the guy she brought home insisted on treating her areola like bubblegum. Then he remembers that they don’t have phones here, so he better go find her before she worries.

When he turns to leave the room, he nearly bumps into Harry who’s been standing no less than two feet from him with a smile on his face and a drink in each hand for who knows how long.

“Jesus Christ!” Louis yells as he jumps back in reaction to Harry once again popping up out of nowhere.

Harry doesn’t even flinch.

“Quite the opposite.” He jokes, holding out one of the drinks for Louis to take. A freshly sizzling vodka Red Bull; his favorite.

Louis’s initial reaction is the thought _you remembered_.

His rational brain says, “No thanks.”

“Louis.” Harry says it like a concerned parent, the tone of it matching the way his mum used to say _Boo Bear, you have to eat your vegetables to grow up big and strong_ , and that ignites something feral within him.

“Satan.” He counters, same tone coupled with a glare and a pair of arms crossed over his chest.

A few half naked bodies slide skin past the two of them as the other patrons manoeuvre their way into the dungeon.

“Will you please let me try to fix this?” Harry pleads, and Louis can feel the pull when he makes eye contact. That devilish itch bubbling below the surface, whispering in the back of his head to step deeper into the more careless parts of his existence and give into his most destructive urges, one of which being Harry himself.

“The fact that you’d even consider that a rational possibility proves how thoroughly you do not get it.” Louis snaps.

“Tell me, then.” Harry says, “Yell at me. Get it all out of your system.”

“I can’t—” Louis stutters, honestly stunned by his boldness. The faded beats from upstairs couldn’t keep up with his heart if they sped up times ten. “I don’t want to fucking _talk_ to you, Harry. I don’t even want to look at you!”

“Well, you’re looking at me now.” Harry says, “So why not try something else you’re not fond of?”

“You want me to tell you about how my entire family is gone, Harry?” Louis feels his voice raise, frantic and triggered in his anger, “You want me to tell you about how I’ll never get to be with them again, even in the afterlife? You want me to remind you _again_ how that’s all your fault?”

“I’d rather you hate me than not speak to me at all.” Harry’s just standing there with that stupid stone cold expression and those stupid doe eyes, begging everyone to believe he’s some kind of innocent, helpless fool.

“Fucking great news for you then!” Louis is fully shouting now, drawing some attention from bystanders as he actually smacks the drink out of Harry’s hands. And because of the small semblance of gratification that brings, he pushes hard against Harry’s bare chest, not budging him at all, but at least causing the drink in his other hand to splash all over his bare chest and his stupid fucking glitter booty shorts.

He looks down at himself, nipples hardening by the chill of ice, skin dripping tangy liquid, empty plastic cups still clutched between his fingers.

“That’s fair.” He sighs.

His head tilts up to meet their eyes again, and then the second lowest moment of Louis’s life happens.

Tears start to sting and he has to take a big gasp of air just to keep it all inside, so he pushes past and up the stairs to retreat to some corner of this place where Harry can’t find him.

And he realises it’s useless because his night was completely spoiled the moment he saw Harry anyway.

He doesn’t actually cry yet. He just really, really wants to.

He holds it in the whole time he’s standing in line at coat check, the whole time he’s dressing himself again, the whole time he’s pushing his way back to the entrance, the whole time he walks past the bouncers at the door, the whole way down the street and around the block.

It’s early enough that the rest of the world is either indoors or in bed. Besides the low buzz of the streetlights and the faint laughter of a group from far off in the background, he’s completely alone.

So of course, just when he finally feels safe enough to let a few tears go sliding down his cheeks, Harry’s voice startles him from behind.

“How long are you planning to keep this up?” He asks.

“Fucking Christ, Harry!” Louis shouts. “For as long as I’m alive!”

“I don’t think you’ve got a clear concept of just how long eternity is, Lou.” Harry says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his button up trousers. He’s got a blouse on now, some patterned thing that’s left half undone as per usual.

“Well, thanks to you, I’m gonna fucking learn!” Louis snarls.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He maintains, “And if you’d just let me help you, you won’t have to learn anything.”

“You’ve never helped me!” Louis rages, “All you’ve ever brought me is confusion and pain! And as a matter of fact, what the hell is this all about?”

He waves his wrist in front of Harry’s face to emphasize the tattoo still metaphorically burning his skin. “You thought I’d actually want to call you or something? After you tattooed your goddamn number onto my skin?”

Harry shrugs, becoming a tiny bit sheepish when he admits, “I thought it would be funny.”

He always did have a strange sense of humour that way. The only difference is that Louis used to laugh right along with him.

“You thought it would be funny!” He shouts, because none of this bullshit has been funny for a long time now, “Of course you did! My life is just some big fucking joke to you, isn’t it?”

Harry stares at him for a long moment with a tiny echo of a tortured look like he’s just oozing unspoken sympathy for Louis’s terrible plight.

“You have to know that’s not true.” He says. “We were friends. Real friends.”

“That was before you took away my chance to die with the rest of my family.” Louis snaps.

“Sheesh, I can get rid of the ink if it upsets you that much.” Harry snaps his fingers and Louis deliberately does not inspect his wrist because that is so far from the point that Louis is still boiling anyway.

“This isn’t about your stupid fucking prank and you know it.” Louis glares.

“Well duh! I know what it’s about, but I can’t do anything about that if you won’t even hear me out!” Harry argues.

“How dumb would I have to be to willingly let you anywhere near me again, knowing you’re the actual Devil?” Louis crosses his arms to stand his ground.

“I’ve always been who I am, Lou. Even when you didn’t want to believe it.” Harry recoils before he goes on, “And despite my obvious shortcomings, I also happen to possess enough self awareness to realise that I acted selfishly towards you.”

That shocks Louis into silence long enough for him to continue.

“In that moment I was only worried about how I was going to live without my best mate, and I’m sorry that I didn’t stop to think about how my wants would affect your needs.”

Each word sinks Louis further into his hesitation, gluing his feet into the bricks below them. It’s the first time he’s given Harry a chance to speak for long enough to see that he might possibly actually understand the damage he’d done.

“Truly, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.” Harry keeps on, something on the edge of glossy pooling in his eyes. “I know what it’s like to be alone for all of eternity and the last thing I want is for you to suffer that way too.”

Louis always thought he was kind in The Before. Generous, to the point of frivolity. He went out of his way to help others, even when his way wasn’t particularly defined. Harry was a better human than most, and maybe that’s why Louis had such a hard time confronting the cold truth of him being the Devil. Everything he knew about the Lord of the Underworld contradicted everything he thought he knew about Harry Styles.

“And that’s where I’m confused.” Louis shakes his head, answering his own thoughts aloud. “If what I know about the Devil is true, then that would make what I know about you, Harry Styles, to be completely untrue. Therefore, you, Harry Styles, cannot be trusted.”

“The Devil is just my title, Louis. There’s far more to me than that.” Harry explains, “It’s like, yeah, you’re a bartender, but you’re also a person with ideas, interests, a whole personality outside of that. I had no idea that this job I never applied for would end up dragging my name through the mud for the rest of eternity. But I’m still somebody else, too.”

“Oh, boo fucking hoo.” Louis mocks, ambiguously waving his hand around Harry’s aura, “This is exactly what you do. You use all your smooth talk and your big dumb eyes to get people to bend to your will.”

Louis had seen it himself, though back then he always just thought Harry was charming enough that it made people want to please him. But he could get into any club at max capacity, find free handouts wherever they went, and always seemed to live well outside of the means of an ‘account manager’ slash underground local musician. Penthouse suites, designer wardrobe, fancy guitars, invites to celebrity events and hotel parties with models. When Louis began to think about all the times he’d watched Harry not take no for an answer, it all started coming together.

“You’re observant.” He says simply.

“Just enough, apparently.” Louis quips, “I did a lot of things I wouldn’t have normally done on my own because of you looking at me like that.”

“That so?” Harry crosses his arms, “Name one.”

Louis scrambles to pull out an example of the effect Harry had on his life. He was never able to put a finger on that feeling he inspired, like the two of them were invincible and the possibilities were endless. It just seemed to land them in a few tricky situations over the years.

“The time we were arrested for trespassing.” Louis recalls the two of them sitting handcuffed in the back of a police car in the middle of the night.

“Really? Was it my eyes that suggested we fence hop into people’s backyard pools, then?” Harry asks.

Louis bites his lip, because he does have a point. Harry was connected to at least four different hotel owners, and a dozen different millionaires in the area, so he might have suggested they pop into one of those options, but then Louis might have insisted there was no time, they had to act in the high of the evening and just go to the nearest unguarded option. In fact, if not for Harry’s influence over law enforcement, Louis might have ended up with it stuck on his permanent record.

“That time we crashed the motorbike into that fire hydrant.” Louis revisits a different fuzzy memory instead; one where he walked away with a broken arm that made working very inconvenient for the next two months.

“Because it was also me who begged to go to the one open cafe across the city while we were tripping on shrooms?” Harry counters, “And me who suggested we take shrooms in the first place?”

“It was you who just happened to have them on you.” Louis argues, “You were always happy to agitate my wild ideas.”

“I don’t happen to think psychedelics are that wild of an idea.” Harry counters.

“Because you torture people for a living.” Louis says, “And that’s exactly my point!”

“I don’t lay a finger on any of the souls that, need I remind you, deserve every minute of torture they receive.” Harry defends himself, “But you already know that because everything I’ve ever told you about myself is true, which is exactly my counter point!”

“Yeah yeah, you’re just the supervisor.” Louis mocks his own description of his duties from so many years ago, throwing his hands to the sky in dramatics, “Halle-fucking-lujah! You’re practically an angel, then!”

“Louis.” Harry cinches his brows together, visibly backing down in the face of his rising anger.

“No, you know what, H? I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.” Louis rants on, “I’ve been over it and over it in my head, and I’ve realised that at the end of the day, my whole life since I met you was one big crescendo of chaos. Starting with some dude at a bar claiming he’s the Devil and ending with everyone I loved dying a horribly painful death. Remember that part? That tiny little detail? Because it’s really all I need to know that you’re bad news.”

“Not everyone you loved.” Harry’s voice goes softer now.

“Everyone.” Louis emphasizes.

Harry frowns.

Him being so good to Louis in the past kind of makes it all the more fucked up in his head. Who was that person he spent all those years getting to know? How could the Harry who baked sugar cookies with his mum during home visits be the same Harry who orders literal demons whether to prescribe flesh wounding agony or the psychological torture of reliving their worst nightmares for the rest of eternity?

“I’m sorry, Louis.” Harry sighs. “Genuinely, I am. If you only knew how much…”

He trails off, sighing again, running his fingers through his hair.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go.” He mumbles, but Louis catches every word.

All that Louis has ever let himself remember is fire and heat and fear, and even that he tries his damndest to file away in some impenetrable cabinet in the farthest corner of his mind. He can still recall the burn of Harry’s skin against his own, can feel the vibrations of Harry’s chest as he begged towards the heavens.

“How was it supposed to go?” Louis asks. “When you brought me back to life, or stopped me from dying, or whatever. What exactly did you want to happen?”

“Of course I wanted to save you, but I didn’t think I actually could.” Harry says, “It just happened to be that I popped back from Hell in time to reach you, because everyone else was gone by the time I got to them. I could’ve sworn you were too.”

“No,” Louis is shaking his head, “You said something in that language of yours. When you were holding me. What was it?”

He’d come to figure that it must have been some kind of demonic resurrection chant. He had no idea what kind of powers Harry had, but to assume bringing people back to life with a curse of immortality would be far from the craziest thing he’s ever done.

Harry just stares him down for a while, in the way that feels like he’s wondering which things he should reveal and which to withhold. The fact remains that he is withholding. No matter how open he claims to be about the most far fetched parts of himself, for as long as Louis has known him he’s been withholding parts too.

Louis can only imagine how gruesome those things must be, but still he needs to know.

“Honestly.” He urges.

Harry pulls his lips into a tight line, then nods once.

“All I said is that I didn’t want to lose you. It was a bit more frantic, but that’s the gist of it.” He admits, quickly glossing it over, “And then your heart stopped beating anyway, so I panicked.”

“You’re saying that you didn’t intend to make me immortal.” Louis summarizes. 

“What? God no, Louis! I had no idea that would happen, I swear!” Harry seems genuinely offended by the notion.

Louis holds his gaze, trying to determine whether he’s got anymore to spill or if that’s it. He’s supposed to believe that this whole thing happened by accident? That Harry didn’t utilise some satanic evil to keep him alive, and that he didn’t deliberately choose not to use it for the rest of Louis’s loved ones?

As if Harry can read his mind, or maybe just the internal conflict painted on his face, he says, “You know I would’ve saved everyone if I could.”

“I don’t know that, actually.” Louis snaps, “So shut the fuck up while I decide if I buy your story or not.”

Harry presses his lips together again, completely at Louis’s mercy.

“So let me get this straight,” He says after a few silent moments, “After all this time, you appear out of nowhere just to help me die?”

“If you’re still interested, then yes.” Harry says.

He supposes if there’s any way to undo a curse that the Devil brought upon him, it would be with the help of the Devil himself, right?

But the more pressing question is when exactly did his life stop making any type of rational sense? And exactly how much is he willing to risk for the slightest chance of being reunited with his family?

“How are you going to do it?” He asks, slowly.

“Not me.” Harry hesitates, carefully gauging Louis’s face for the reaction to the next part, “An old friend of mine has a ritual for it.”

“Do they now?” Louis snorts, “And just what kind of ritual is this?”

“It’s an ancient voodoo practice.” Harry explains, “Typically performed on the sick or dying to free the soul from the flesh, but it has seen success with healthy bodies too.”

“A bloody voodoo ritual.” Louis groans, running a hand through his hair in complete stress. “Just when I start to think hey, maybe there is something to all this mythical bullshit, there you go throwing some more utter fucking nonsense.”

“Hear me out, Lou.” Harry says, “I know you don’t believe in things you can’t prove, but I had to do a lot of digging around the underworld to find this. It’s not some cheap YouTube tutorial shit.”

“Oh well, good thing all the damned souls are so reliable and trustworthy then.” Louis quips.

“You don’t fuck with voodoo, Louis.” Harry cautions, his voice stern. “Everyone knows that.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “I don’t know that, because I’m a person born with enough of a brain to not buy into bullshit so easily.”

“The irony is that people with true intelligence have the ability to expand their minds beyond what they’ve previously accepted as truth.” Harry only half-mumbles it, still clear enough for Louis to hear.

“You calling me fucking stupid, mate?”

“You’re being obtuse.” Harry maintains. “After all you’ve seen, you’re still choosing to behave as if the world as you know it isn’t just a tiny sliver of what actually exists.”

Fire. Screams. Charred, lava skin. Fucking wings.

Beyond that, his own blood, pouring out of him in impossible amounts. Rope marks bruised into his neck. The blackened empty space behind his eyes as he hit the floor with a cement thud. And the light of a new day, every single time afterward.

He wavers just a bit. “You really believe some fucking witch spell is going to make me mortal again?”

“It’s a ritual.” Harry corrects. “And you would be dead the moment it’s over.”

The glare Louis gives him literally silences the Devil, if only for a few seconds.

“She goes by Ms. Cecile, and she knows her stuff.” He says, “New Orleans born and raised. Mentored by the original voodoo queen, who’s been dead for hundreds of years, yet still manages to maintain regular contact.”

“So, this Cecile person is only second best.” Louis notes.

“She’s the best alive.” Harry vouches.

“So why not just ask this dead queen how it’s done and do the damn thing yourself?”

Harry snorts.

Louis stares.

“Oh, you’re serious?” He asks.

“Do I sound like I’m fucking joking?”

“It’s just, magic doesn’t work that way.” Harry explains, “She could detail the process, sure, but it would be useless in unbred hands.”

“Inbred?”

“Unbred.” Harry corrects. “Like, someone would have to be born into a magical bloodline to even be capable of witchcraft, and then it still takes years to harness that power. They have to form a spiritual connection to the beyond, to the life and energies within them, in this realm and others… it’s a whole process.”

Harry can tell he may as well be throwing his words over Louis’s head, since that’s where they’re going anyway.

“Not everybody can just be a witch.” He finishes quickly.

“Devil should trump witch in my book.” Louis crosses his arms, “And apparently, I’ve got all the time in the world for you to learn.”

“Louis. It’s just not how any of this works.” Harry doesn’t physically roll his eyes, but his tone suggests his annoyance at the fact that Louis doesn’t automatically know ‘how any of this works’.

“Well, I’m quite new to all of this, so I make no apologies for my needing some guidance.” Louis demands.

“Well, of course it’s not going to make any sense if you keep treating it like nonsense.” Harry counters.

“ _Well_ , I can’t help if this solution of yours sounds even more batshit than all the Devil crap you’ve been chatting since day one!” Louis shouts.

“ _Well_ , look how all of that turned out to be true too!” Harry crosses his arms and looks down at him.

Louis grits his teeth.

“Listen, this has been reality to you for how long?” He waves his hand to indicate that a real answer isn’t needed. He’s fairly sure it’s at least a few millennia. “And I’ve been alive for only 28 measly years. During which it’s been hammered into my brain that some things just aren’t real.”

“By who, Lou?”

He really wishes Harry would stop calling him that. Like they’re still some kind of friends or something.

“Everyone! Society! The way of the world!” Louis says, “You find out Santa is a sham when you’re a kid and from there it’s like all the magic slowly gets sucked out of life until you officially join the pessimistic rat race of adulthood like everybody else.”

“The Louis I know would never describe himself as a pessimist.” Harry says.

“The Louis you _knew_ grew the fuck up.” He counters.

Harry lets out a deep breath. When he looks up again it’s with something distant in his eyes, a look Louis can feel echoing through him like the remnants of who he was in The Before.

He almost wants to say something to comfort Harry’s grief. Maybe more to choke back his own.

For just a moment, he tries to imagine the world through the eyes of a dreamer. The type of person who just naturally believes in magic spells and avoids haunted houses and swears on their life there’s mermaids hiding somewhere in the unexplored corners of the ocean.

“I suppose there are some nutcases who do choose to believe this stuff without as much proof as I’ve been so blessed to obtain as of late.” He says under his breath, in case he decides to change his mind and pretend he never said it in the first place.

He watches the corner of Harry’s mouth tilt up into a half-smirk.

“Well, welcome to Nutcase City.” He says.

He supposes if there is a way to reverse something that shouldn’t exist, it would be with another something that shouldn’t exist either. And from a personal standpoint, it would take some kind of massive balls to fuck with the Devil; voodoo on your side or not. So maybe there might be the tiniest inkling of substance to what Harry’s saying.

“So.” Harry asks, slowly, testing the waters, “Do you still want to die or not?”

“I want to be with my family where I belong.” Louis answers honestly.

“Then come with me to see her.”

Louis stares him down for a long time, arms still crossed, fuming as his head whirls in thirty different directions. He shouldn’t even have to make this decision to begin with. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t still blame Harry for causing this whole mess; if he could go with literally anyone else on Earth, he wouldn’t even give it a second thought.

But who knows what entangling himself with Harry again could bring? It sure as fuck didn’t end well the first time.

He yells. Just starts yelling and doesn’t stop until his voice catches in his throat and there’s no more sound left. It’s just for the release, because a part of him really thinks he might explode if he doesn’t let go of the weight in his chest. The old wounds splitting open quicker than he can keep up with.

Harry waits patiently, hands in his pockets, wrinkle lines carved into his forehead.

“ _Halt’s Maul!_ ” Someone opens their window to shout into the night. 

And Louis is by no means fluent in German despite his two years of immersion, but context clues dictate that it’s probably someone telling him to shut the fuck up.

Harry’s fighting to hold back a smile, and Louis can’t even blame him because in a different era they’d be laughing together.

“Why couldn’t you have just left me alone?” He finally sighs through his last breath. “Like, from the very beginning? What do you get out of messing with humans anyway?”

Harry retreats back to silence for a few more beats, and then pulls his lips together into a fine line.

“You couldn’t even pretend to understand.” His head shakes with all the words he doesn’t want to say, and honestly, Louis probably doesn’t want to hear him say them either. It’s been a fucking long night and he just wants to go home.

“I need a minute to sit on all this.” He decides, tucking his hands into the front of his hoodie.

“I suppose there’s no rush.” Harry copies the motion with the pockets of his trousers. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	3. Chapter 3

After a few weeks of sharing hostel bedrooms, the first thing he did with their new flat was get himself a king sized bed and a massive TV to match. He eventually furnished the rest of his space with a slew of classy adult decor like an actual desk, a chest of drawers, bedside tables, and table lamps just because that’s what adults did. The old school gaming systems and collection of movie props were the finishing touches to breathe a bit of life into the place and really turn it into a comfort zone for him.

So the next day, he just holes up in his room, shouting through the door for Bebe to leave him alone. 

He finds coverage for his closing shift and camps out, barely leaving the bed except to eat and go to the toilet. He keeps replaying the last few days in a slideshow of words that cling to the empty corners of his brain and flashes of Harry’s face and the fire, the fire, the fire. The screams of his sisters, the cinders of Harry’s skin phantom stinging against his own. All of it just comes back in waves.

The airtight safe full of memories has been opened and now nothing works to distract him. He tries browsing for a new show to binge watch, he visits every game in his repertoire for a total of 10 minutes max, he even tries wasting time on social media, reading, and cleaning the flat; all things he rarely does on a normal day, but anything to get his mind off the fear that Harry is watching him, waiting in the wings to show up and disrupt his life again.

The two days after that pass in a softened blur of imaginary witch spells and potions concocted by his own brain. He claims a headache to explain away his usual self, but even his regular customers notice that something is off. He takes several extra smoke breaks to avoid having to make up excuses about what’s bothering him, or worse, actually talk about what’s really on his mind: the idea that maybe there could be an escape after all. Maybe none of this Berlin life even matters anymore because he’s supposed to be dead anyway.

He chain smokes the sunrises and sets into the darkened cover of night. He tries to ignore the liquor cabinet calling his name, the itch to indulge in some of the unhealthier coping mechanisms he used to turn to. Tries to remember why he decided life was better (mostly) sober and focused. Tries to remember why any of that mattered to him before.

Three days after the last Harry encounter, the space where the tattoo of his phone number was still burns against Louis’s skin. Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s not, but Louis can’t tell the difference anymore. Once upon a time, he didn’t think the Devil was real either. Or immortality, or witches and voodoo rituals. Are vampires and werewolves real too? Fucking Santa Claus? Has the world always been this place where myths and magic hide just beyond the peripherals of the average human eye?

He justifies a drink at noon and then the rest of the day sloshes into stumbling madness. He wakes up the next morning with a hangover from Hell and that simple, casual thought leads him to pour another glass of tequila.

By the end of the week, Bebe is increasingly concerned with his behavior, practically begging him to socialise. She takes him to their favorite Pho spot, or so she says, but he barely recalls how the evening began before he ended up agreeing to another night out.

They end up at one of Bee’s favorite clubs instead. She buys him a drink as a treat to make up for the week he’s had and it takes less than an hour before he’s chugged down three more on his own tab. He pukes on the floor of the men’s toilets and must’ve passed out for a moment because when he blinks again there’s someone wiping up the last remnants of his stomach contents.

Looks like a woman, so he wonders if he accidentally went into the wrong room.

“Am I…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but his confusion while scanning the area seems to fill in the blanks.

“Never sure if I’m in the right one myself.” She laughs, “But there’s less staring in here when I whip my cock out, so I prefer it.”

Her accent is distinctly German. She’s tall, tan, and thin; a brunette with baby doll eyes and possibly lip injections, but classy ones at least. And she’s wearing this glittery curve-hugging dress that kind of makes Louis wish he could be a girl too.

“But your pronouns?” Louis asks.

“She and they.” She smiles. “Yours?”

“Male. He and him.” Louis confirms. “What do you go by? Your name, I mean.”

“I’m Eleanor.” She says, offering a hand for him to grab so she can pull him to a stand. There’s a line out the door for the facilities, but Louis had found a spot in the farthest corner of the room to empty his stomach in.

“Louis.” He introduces, and maybe it’s all the liquor that makes him trust those eyes so thoroughly, but also probably the chance that he’ll probably never see this person again in his life, so he says, “Effie, do you believe in heaven and hell?”

She falters for just a moment, tilting her head up defensively and crossing her arms across her modest chest.

“It’s Eleanor.” She says, “And if you’re really about to lecture me on sin after I’ve just cleaned your vomit off the floor, I gotta say you’re a special kind of jerk.”

“Are you kidding? I’m eternally grateful.” Louis snorts. “Literally until the end of time, seeing as Satan himself turned me immortal! Can you believe that?”

“I uh, certainly cannot.” She chuckles slightly.

“Well, I’ve got no choice, because it’s my life, so I’ll be grateful to you until the end of time!” He practically sings the words, trying to let them fall off his tongue like a current over a cliff. Easy, natural, accepting reality. It sounds more like complete delusion.

She raises a brow. “Exactly what are you on right now? Another vomit might serve you well.”

“I know I sound like a loony bird, but it’s all dreadfully true.” He says, “The Devil is real, love. And he won’t fucking leave me alone.”

She looks like she’s debating whether to get out while she still can or simply indulge Louis in his delusion. It’s a brief tipping point that he remembers all too well.

“Dare I ask, why’s that?” She decides.

“We used to be good mates.” Louis summarizes, simple as ever.

“Friends with Satan himself.” She repeats.

“Yeah,” Louis goes on, “Or so I thought. But that was before I knew he was the actual Devil. Before that, I just thought he was a crazy person.”

“So naturally, you decided to befriend this person you believed was legitimately insane.” She says.

Louis snorts a laugh. Hearing it out loud like that, maybe he is the one to blame for landing himself in this mess.

“Never claimed I was the brightest bulb in the pack.” He says, “Got a bit of a wild streak meself, and he seemed harmless enough. Despite all his demons,” He laughs again, “He was very charming.”

“As the Devil is known to be, if you do believe the tales.” She comments.

“Right. And of course I didn’t believe them, because it’s a load of shite.” Louis agrees, “But then things got out of hand and now I’m just…”

He sighs.

“I just don’t know what to do with all this anger.” He admits, maybe even to himself for the first time.

He’s angry that Harry showed up at all, and regrettably angrier that he hasn’t continued to show up since the last time. Somehow the concept of Harry chasing him down, not giving him the option to walk away feels less psychotic than addressing the fact that buried impossibly deep below the mountains of ferocity, there might be the tiniest bit of comfort in seeing him again.

“Ah,” Eleanor says, looking like a light has gone on in her head. “So this is like a metaphor for someone that hurt you and your way of coping is to get pissed every night in attempt to quell your aching heart?”

“I suppose that’s what it boils down to.” Louis resigns. No one in their right mind would actually believe the truth, and he’s learned his lesson about entertaining people who aren’t. There goes that destructive itch again.

“And why have you decided to spill all this to a stranger in a club bathroom?”

“Because my best mate would never look at me the same.” He says.

“Probably get you the help you clearly need, though.” She agrees.

He doesn’t exactly feel better having some stranger know. He might feel better if Bebe knew, assuming he could get her to take him seriously. But the only person he really wants to talk to about it all is his mum, and the fact that he hasn’t been able to do that in ages is probably at least partially why he’s in this shit hole of life at the moment. If he did miss Harry even a tiny bit, the gap in his life for his mum and siblings could completely swallow it whole.

“Right, well.” Louis nods, holding his hand out for a shake, “Thank you again, Elena. For cleaning up my mess.”

“Eleanor.” She corrects, this time with a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Fuck, sorry. Swear it’s not you, you’re lovely.” Louis says, “I’m just all fucked in the head right now.”

“I can see that.” She chuckles, and then, so blunt that it catches him off-guard, “Have you tried fucking it out?”

“I… no.” He blinks.

“Would you like to?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to him until now, but it’s not completely far-fetched seeing as it wouldn’t be the first time he’s used sex to cope. And he’s not naive enough to think that it will solve anything, but she’s pretty, she’s already said she has a cock, and wouldn’t be asking if not to establish herself as an interested party, so what could could it hurt?

“I don’t really see a reason why not.” He shrugs.

“Come meet my friends, too. I think you’ll like them.” She says it with a look in her eyes, an offer that Louis recognises from The Before. It has gotten a bit messy for the couples involved once or twice, but from his end, it was just some good old three-way fun with nothing to lose.

“What makes you so sure?” Louis raises a brow.

“One swears there’s aliens on Earth and the other’s really into cryptids.” She’s still grinning, but Louis is too out of it to decide if she’s teasing or not.

“They better have cocks as well, or I’m out.” Louis says, taking her hand to be led onto the dance floor.

*

When he arrives home the next morning, head fucking pounding, throat a bit sore, clothes from the previous night still reeking of alcohol and sex, he very unpleasantly finds Harry waiting outside his building’s main entrance.

“You look like a mountain of shit got run over by a truck.” Harry greets. 

Today he’s dressed more casually in bell-bottom jeans and a bright green jumper with a happy little sheep on it that says  _ My Life Is Crap  _ . Louis could tell him to fuck off with that God-awful taunt of his, but instead he just chokes out an ugly laugh.

“You  _ are  _ a mountain of shit run over by a truck.” Louis says, almost second nature at this point. Like when they used to rag on each other for fun, back when things were still human between them.

Harry blows a soft bit of air through his nose, curves his mouth up into a half smirk.

“Do you feel better yet?” He asks, cig pressed between his lips. He holds one out to Louis as an offering.

He remembers Harry mentioning once that he doesn’t usually bother with tobacco; while other drugs are potent enough for him to catch a high, nicotine has no effect on his supernatural blood. So he must just be doing it as stress relief, the thought of which is comforting somehow. An indication that there's something troubling him as well.

“Why should I?” Louis wonders.

“Seemed to be doing alright last night.” It sends a quick shiver down his spine when he says, “With your new friends.”

“You are following me, then.” He grits his teeth.

“I check in from time to time.” Harry puffs at his cig. “More so when you’re clearly struggling.”

“Well that’s fucking creepy.” Louis says, shuddering inwardly, afraid to let the Devil know just how much he gets under his skin. 

“You’re probably right about that.” Harry just hums as he sucks down another drag. 

“A bold admission from Satan himself.” He laughs.

Maybe a sexual release is exactly what he needed because post-orgy, this whole convoluted mess just seems like a fucking riot all of a sudden. Like, of course this shit would be happening to him. He probably pissed someone off in a past life or something and his current reality was the punishment for it.

He decides to accept Harry’s offer, snatching the cigarette from his fingers to light between his own. Harry’s taken everything from him, including the apparent luxury of privacy, so the least he can do is take a free smoke in return.

“What’s the point of that, anyway?” He asks, lightning it and sucking smoke into his lungs, “Why would a busy man like yourself be wasting his time stalking a lowly human such as myself?”

“I’m a concerned friend.” Harry says, “And you’re not lowly, you’re misguided.”

“Oh, am I now?” Louis laughs, a harsh, dark thing that echoes within him. “Why ever would that be?”

Harry stares, taking another hit and blowing out the smoke slowly before he finally responds.

“You can’t kill yourself, Louis.” He says, a slight change of subject. “Doesn’t matter how much you drink, how many drugs you do, how many strangers you fuck. It’s not going to help.”

“Sorry, I thought I was speaking to the Lord of Hell, not Captain fucking Obvious.” Louis ashes the top of his to the ground.

“If you know that, then what are you doing?” Harry asks. He’s looking at him with those damn eyes like he ever gave a shit about the state of Louis’s life. As if after all this time apart, he still cares or something. As if things could ever go back to how they were before.

“Whatever the fuck I want.” Louis spits.

“Trust me, you don’t want to spend eternity living this way.” Harry says. “It’s a long time to be in a fucked up haze.”

“Another brilliant observation!” Louis cheers, “Eternity is a long fucking time! Who knew?”

“You say that now, but your brain is incapable of grasping the reality of just how long it actually is.” Harry says. “A year may as well be a day, they begin to pass so quickly.”

“Still feels like proper years to us newbies.” Louis points out. Four whole years since his world flipped upside down and this is what the last scraps of his new life have become. He wishes it felt like only four days.

Harry sighs. “Have you made up your mind yet?”

If he’s being soberly honest with himself, the offer is tempting. And while the honesty about Harry and the whole unfortunate situation of his life is busy crawling its way out of the cage he kept it locked behind, a tiny part of him hates to admit that although the Harry he knew was a lot of things, boring wasn’t one of them. 

Life with Harry in it was adrenaline, the tingling of excitement blinding through his system like the flashes from photographers on the Brits red carpet. It was doing lines in hotel bathrooms with nameless models, it was backstage and court side and front row seats, it was kebab sauce dripping onto fancy suits at 5 am and belly laughter over brunch in their sweats the next day. 

Harry was never looking to reach fame with his music, but he was so well-connected in the industry that he could’ve grabbed it if he wanted. So days with Harry were always a stark contrast of the high life and the slow life, and some part of Louis had always been addicted to the thrill of never knowing what would come next. The buzz of honour that Harry would choose to pull him into his world, out of all the contacts he’d collected who could do more for him than Louis could ever think to offer. The even higher honour of being able to bring Harry into his world of trackies and cheap fast food.

He could make a trip to the grocer’s entertaining. He’d pick out all these fancy ingredients, some of which Louis had never heard of, and turn it into a meal fit for a king. He’d do the dishes and the cleaning and the laundry at Louis’s flat, and insist that Louis’s company was more than enough compensation for it all. Louis hated working out, but had no problem following Harry to the gym for a training session, and that was only partially because Harry preferred to do it topless. 

And on several occasions he’s surprised Louis with a trip to somewhere he’d simply mentioned in passing, so it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve traveled internationally with just the two of them. But it would be the first time in The After.

“It’s a tough decision to make.” Louis takes a drag, holds it in for a moment before slowly releasing his breath. “On one hand, you’ve managed to entice me with the idea that I could finally be with my family again. And on the other, I am dead put off by the thought of willingly spending more time with the literal embodiment of evil.”

Harry stares back without a word, so Louis gets to watch the muscles in his jaw as they tighten into a clench.

“Aw, have I said something to upset you?” He taunts.

“Nothing I’m not used to.” Harry grits his teeth, “You’ve always been a right shit when you’re pissed off.”

“Don’t do that, stop acting like you know me.”

“I do know you, Louis. Better than you think.” Harry says. “Which is how I know this little tantrum won’t last forever, and why I’m still trying to make things right.”

“You used to know me.” Louis hisses, dropping the butt of his cig, angrily stomping it under his foot. 

“I  _ know  _ you.” Harry says again, ferocity rearing in his eyes this time. “I know more about you than you realise.”

“Just what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I‘ll still be here whenever you’re ready to let it go.” Harry blows out a fresh line of smoke, then grinds the butt of his cig against the wall, pocketing it rather than throwing it to the ground.

“Let it go, Harry?” The heat in Louis’s voice rises now, “You are the reason for everything bad not only in my life, but throughout the history of time. How does one just let that go?”

“You know I’m not.” Harry says, calm and collected as ever. “But I am used to being the scapegoat for humans to blame when they’ve got no other explanation for their fears.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns away, and Louis is left reeling once again as he watches his back fade into the bustle of the morning crowd.

It’s something Louis would’ve said himself, ages ago. All the stories of people crying Devil seemed almost laughable. Harry knows that, because they’ve discussed it before. 

**

“Okay H, please don’t take this the wrong way,” Louis had said one night as they sat in Harry’s fancy lounge, passing a blunt back and forth on the smooth leather sofa. “But don’t you think the Devil is just like, a cop out for people who don’t want to face the horrors that humanity brings on itself?”

Harry took a moment to stare at him that way he does, biting his tongue for things he believed Louis wouldn’t understand. He took a hit to stall for time, handed it back before answering.

“Yes, I do think that.” Harry had agreed around a cloud of smoke, which was a complete shock to Louis considering how thoroughly his friend relied on biblical themes to process his own life.

“Then what’s your deal with all this nonsense?” Louis waved his hand in an aimless gesture to Harry’s general existence.

“I believe that about the Devil because I  _ am  _ the Devil, Louis.” Harry chuckled a little, “So I know that none of what I’ve been blamed for is actually my fault, as well as understanding that humans function on an emotional level which allows fear to influence their brains in ways they often aren’t aware of.”

“But aren’t you just kind of doing the same thing though?” Louis asked, “You’re like, choosing to go this whole fantasy route so you don’t have to face whatever it is that’s gotten you to this point.”

“What exactly do you think I’m hiding?” Harry wondered, “I’ve been an open book from the moment we met.”

“Not so much hiding, just…” Louis shrugged. “I dunno, coping. Life is hard. Your family’s not around, you don’t seem to have many close friends, and apparently the people you work with aren’t very pleasant either.”

“Yeah, they’re  _ demons _ .” Harry interjected, smirking wide enough to reveal the dimples that Louis had come to cherish. “You know, I kind of like that you don’t believe me.”

“Do you?” Louis took another hit, held it in while Harry went on.

“More so that you don’t believe me, yet you’re still willing to put up with all my nonsense, as you’ve called it.” Harry said.

“Your nonsense is more fun than everyone else’s.” Louis shrugged as he let the tendrils of smoke escape from between his lips. “Even though it is based in religious lore that sounds absolutely bonkers to my ears.”

“You’re clever for not believing any of that.” Harry nodded.

“Am I?” It was Louis turn to laugh, “From someone who clearly subscribes so deeply to those ideals that they’ve twisted it into a metaphor for their own life?”

“I mean, some religions have got some things right.” Harry shrugged. “But a whole huge, fat load of it is pure crap.”

“I am very interested to know which parts you actually don’t believe in.” Louis passed the blunt and made a show of settling further into his seat to listen.

“Well,” Harry took a hit and continued through his held breath, “There is an underworld and an overworld, and Hell is reserved for the souls who can’t be pardoned even by the grace of the Higher Powers.”

“You mean God?”

“Sure, yeah, I mean,” Harry had stiffened a bit, clearly gauging Louis’s reaction to what he had to say next, “It’s more like just a force that manifests in the form of whatever being the soul finds most comforting. So if that’s a singular God for you, then you’re not technically wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s a comfort for me, so much as what I’m most used to hearing about.” Louis clarified, “But what do you see it as?”

“For the soulless beings like myself, it just exists as a sense of unwavering authority that can’t be resisted.” He said, “The only way I can explain is that you’re created with a specific path laid out, and any attempt to stray from it results in severe deterrents meant to bring you back one way or another.”

“Sounds about right.” It was probably the first thing he’d ever agreed with Harry on in terms of afterlife ideas. “Except for the part where you don’t believe you’ve got a soul?”

“I don’t.” Harry said, “And neither do demons or angels. We’re all neutral beings created with the purpose of keeping the balance of good and evil in the world.”

“Okay, okay. So if you don’t have a soul, then where do you think you go when you die?” Louis’s voice was teasing, though Harry had managed to pique his genuine curiosity at that point. The way he talked was just so  _ sure  _ , his confidence in his own ideas so convincing that Louis could believe he might actually have it all figured out.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Keep up, Lou. There’s only life for me.”

“Right, okay, yeah. Of course the Devil is eternal,” Louis nodded, “But if you’re telling me there’s no big man in the sky, then what else have humans got wrong?” 

“The whole rule book. All of them.” Harry snorted as his lips found the end and passed the blunt back. “How bizarre of you all to think there’s any sort of concrete qualifications for what makes someone worthy of redemption. How bonkers to think that even if that were true, it wouldn’t need to evolve with the ever changing times.”

“Definitely not arguing that,” Louis laughed along with him before finishing the last drag and setting the roach on the edge of the ashtray. “But if you can confirm there’s essentially a Heaven and Hell, then wouldn’t it make sense to provide an outline of how someone ends up in either place?”

“Absolutely not. With how complex human life is, there’s too much room for inaccuracies.” Harry leaned back against the couch to settle in himself. “It doesn’t matter if you pray every week or five times a day, whether you’re gay or trans or rich or poor, have an abortion or sex before marriage or whatever else you all waste your time arguing about. All that matters is what’s in your heart, and you can’t hide any of it when you die.”

“Are you saying that the road to Hell is  _ not  _ paved with good intentions?” Louis gasped, earning a chuckle from Harry at his dramatics. 

“It’s actually paved with the blood of greed and psychopathy.” He confirmed.

Louis’s brows scrunched together, “The psychopathy part just begs the question of whether it’s fair to punish people who can’t help the way their brains are wired, no?” 

“Humans love to be able to explain things they don’t understand.” Harry said, “But real, true psychopaths are quite well known to be one of the purest forms of evil on Earth, and that’s all there is to it. Whether they can help it or not is irrelevant.”

“That’s bullshit.” Louis remembers struggling a bit with that one, “So what about, like, Hitler, who really believed he was doing something good for the world? I obviously don’t agree with his impact, but one could argue that in his heart he had good intentions.”

“I suppose one could,” Harry raised a brow at him, “But genocide is probably the most surefire way to earn your one-way ticket.” 

“But you see what I’m getting at, right?”

“I do, and it’s a fair point.” Harry nodded, stroking his chin in thought for a moment, “Okay, so I guess the system is more like a scale of intention vs. outcome. At the end of the day, if you end up bringing more harm to the world than good or even neutral, it really doesn’t matter what’s in your heart because you still fucked up.”

“And if God is just some arbitrary force, then who decides all this anyway?” Louis fired off another curiosity.

“I really love these little chats.” Harry had laughed, looking over at him with that glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re always so philosophical. It’s nice to have someone who can keep up. And is actually interested in this stuff.”

Louis beamed. Harry always had this way of ascribing words to what was already in his head before he could.

“Don’t avoid the question.”

“I don’t have an answer for that one.” Harry shrugged. “When a soul passes, it just arrives in one place or the other. It’s widely accepted that there’s some kind of judgement happening in idle, but no one has the insight to how. We only know that it’s never wrong.”

“And you know this all sounds just about as ridiculous as the many other inaccurate religious texts you’ve cited, right?” Louis held Harry’s gaze for a moment to study his eyes for an ounce of doubt in his own theories.

There wasn’t a wink of it to be found.

Harry shrugged. “Not if it’s the only system you’ve ever known.”

  
  


**

  
  


“What the fuck, Lou!” Bebe is completely panicked as soon as he steps inside. True to form, after a night of partying she looks like an unstyled troll doll with her hair pointing every which way, bug eyes wide as she paces the living room in nothing but her underwear and an oversized tee. “You don’t answer your phone anymore?”

“Battery died.” Louis shrugs, plopping himself down onto the sofa.

“Then fucking come find me before you leave the club! We’ve talked about this!” She freaks. “Jesus, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something!”

“What would it matter?” Louis shrugs.

“Okay, enough.” Bebe puts her metaphorical foot down. “I’ve tried to be understanding of this little mood you’ve been in, but now I’m gonna need you to pull that gigantic stick out of your asshole for like, a second and tell me what’s been going on with you.”

He has always loved that Brooklyn fire in her. 

Much as he wants to, he knows he can’t actually tell her anything substantial. That would only lead her to double down on the insistence that there’s something seriously wrong with him.

He also really doesn’t have it in him to make up some cheap story just to keep her at bay though, because lying just takes more effort than he has to give right now. 

Maybe he’ll tell her someday, but today is not it.

“I might be taking a couple weeks off.” He says, diverting her attention instead. “I think I just need to get away for a bit, d’ya know what I mean?”

“Is something bothering you?” She asks, calming down as she takes a seat next to him.

“Just like, mum and stuff. All that mess. Seeing Harry again just really brought it all back to me.” He dances around saying it out loud like he always does, and of course she understands that, like she always does.

Her hand begins a soothing rub up and down his spine.

“Okay, then maybe it could do you some good.” She agrees. “Where are you thinking?”

He didn’t realize he’d already made his mind up until she asks and there’s only one place that springs onto the tip of his tongue. Some huge part of him still wants to hold it back. He forces himself to entertain the idea of an actual holiday to Fiji. Mexico. Thailand. Anywhere but the one place his every cell is clinging to, yearning to spit into existence. 

Because the idea of what he’s about to say next is making his stomach physically sick, he digs around in his pockets for the tools to roll another cig.

“New Orleans.” He tries the taste of it on his tongue. 

“Oh my God, well now you’ve made me jealous!” Bebe gushes, “You sure you don’t want some company? It might be kinda lame on your own.”

“I won’t be alone.” He says, “I’m going to visit a friend.” 

Just those tiny bits of info set her off on a dish about how much fun she had on her friend’s bachelorette weekend in NOLA, complete with a slew of recommendations and a few million sighs about how much she misses the States.

It does work as a nice distraction for them both. Him, for the real reasons why he’s about to take a trip overseas with somebody he can’t stand for the sake of relieving himself of the invincibility he never asked for, and her from trying to pry any deeper into it.

*

He lets another week fly by before he’s ready to bite the bullet and give Harry a call. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

This whole plan of Harry’s is completely bananas and Louis is a jar of extra chunky peanut butter to go along with it. 

The thoughts are gnawing holes into the back of his head though; thoughts like what if it works? If Harry really did spend years researching this with people and things that are beyond the realm of human existence, entities that have real experience with the bizarrities of the afterlife and this is all he’s managed to come up with, then what if it’s Louis’s only chance to be reunited with his family? Would he ever be able to go on wondering about the possibility if he didn’t at least give it a try?

“I’m still angry at you.” He says as soon as Harry picks up. As if he would ever have needed a dumb tattoo to remember a literal series of sixes.

“You’re allowed to be.” Harry responds. 

“I don’t need your approval, I just want you to know that this doesn’t mean we’re friends again.” Louis clarifies.

“Okay.” Harry says. He doesn’t push or have any other input, and that’s quite possibly even more infuriating. 

“And if this fucking insane plan of yours doesn’t work, I don’t want you to find me again.” He adds for good measure. 

He really means it, too. If he has to spend eternity alive because of Harry, then he doesn’t want to spend any of it  _ with  _ Harry. 

“It’s not my plan, Lou.” Harry reminds him. “It’s an ancient ritual passed on through generations of dark magical beings. And I can only guarantee that it’s your best chance as of now.”

“I’m also going to need you to stop saying shit like that.” Louis says, “It takes a lot away from the reality of the situation.”

“Well, maybe you should accept that some things in this world exist beyond the human comprehension of what ‘reality’ actually is.” He sounds so fucking pretentious that Louis could land a fist to his face right though the phone.

He sighs, an exasperated thing full of dread for the process looming ahead.

“I took some time off, so we can get this over with ASAP.” He says.

“I’ll make the travel arrangements, then.” Harry agrees.

A few more unspoken beats linger between them, and just as Louis is about to click the line dead, Harry speaks again.

“I for one am looking forward to it.” He says.

“Wise of you to assume you’re the only one.” Louis hangs up. 

He swallows the lump forming in his throat and takes a deep breath as he continues staring at his empty lock screen for just a few more seconds before shaking some sense back into his head and going on about his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	4. Chapter 4

“For a small time musician, you sure do well for yourself.” Louis remembers saying as he and Harry checked in to the airport together, years ago. They were headed to Leeds Fest for a weekend of shenanigans set to a soundtrack of some of their favourites. Louis still can’t listen to Two Door Cinema Club without wanting to burrow his head into a hole.

“I do have another job.” Harry reminded him as he wheeled his backpack over the polished granite while they made their way through the bustling crowd of travelers.

“Right, of course.” Louis had rolled his eyes, having no idea of the possibilities back then. He hoisted his own carry-on higher on his back as they headed towards security. “But how does that one line your pockets?”

“Nearly every single CEO on the planet has handed the rights to their soul over to me.” Harry winked. “Which comes with perks like never actually having to pay for VIP treatment, for instance.”

“What I’m hearing is you’re actually broke.” Louis joked.

“What’s money when you’re rich with influence?” Harry cooed, waving an arm over his head in a rainbow shape.

“Sounds like something a poor person would say.” Louis teased, earning him an elbow shove and a laugh.

“Shall I treat us to lunch with my Monopoly money, then?” Harry asked as they grabbed their stuff from the trays on the conveyor belt.

“Blood money, more like.” Louis snorted as he shrugged his denim jacket over his shoulders. “What happens if somebody ever does a background check on you? People have got to have suspicions about where all this power comes from.”

“You don’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of me being above the realm of human influence.” Harry had laughed. “It doesn’t matter what people think; I’m untouchable.”

“But like, for the story. What do you tell people?” Louis pressed on. “You can’t possibly be going around telling _everybody_ you’re the Devil. Surely someone would’ve had you committed by now.”

“It’s not a secret.” Harry shrugged. “Whether they believe or not is up to them.”

“And anyone with half a brain wouldn’t.” Louis said.

“Oh, you’ve only got half a brain? That explains so much.” Harry countered.

Louis rolled his eyes as they grabbed their bags once more and headed towards their gate.

“I tell them the same thing I told you. Account management.” Harry always smirked a little when he mentioned that, a fact Louis now realises is probably because of how loosely based in truth it was. “It makes you all feel better to have a logical career to attribute to my success. And if the situation calls for it, I can always just show the Devil side of me to save face.”

“Has the situation ever called for it?” Louis perked up as he imagined the display it must be to watch Harry try to activate himself like an invisibility cloak or something. 

“A handful of times.” Harry shrugged.

“When? And how did they react? You absolutely must share.”

Harry chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Do you remember the Salem Witch Trials?”

“Oh sure, times were rough back then. Tensions high, food scarce, nan couldn’t even leave the house without drawing suspicion.” Louis played along.

Harry paused with his mouth open like whatever he was going to say got stuck.

“What? It was obviously a joke.” Louis tried to laugh it off.

“No, I know, it’s just… why did you choose your nan specifically?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged. “I don’t see what difference it would’ve made had I used my sisters or mum.”

“I guess.” Harry sort of shook his head to return his focus to the subject at hand. “Anyway, people were far more superstitious back then. I probably should’ve just left when the town started pointing fingers, but there was somebody I’d grown attached to, so I kept coming back.” 

“Well that was your first mistake.” Louis said, “Never catch feelings.”

They silently agreed to step into the Nando’s line as Harry shared his story.

“It always sneaks up at the most inconvenient times though, doesn’t it?” Harry mused.

“I have such a hard time picturing you being seriously involved with somebody.” Louis chuckled lightly at the idea of it.

Much like himself, Harry was still in his sleeping around stage, punctuated by maybe a bad date every now and then. He’d never seemed very interested in finding a serious partner, so finding out that he’d felt enough of something for somebody at any point in his life had definitely caught Louis’s interest.

Even if it was all just some insane metaphor of reality. He briefly wondered what actually happened to tear the two of them apart, but Louis had learned by then that the way Harry viewed the world held up no matter how hard he tried to crack through it. And playing along often made it hard to remember that it was all a big delusion.

“Oh, he wasn’t even my first. I don’t tend to go searching for it, but I have always been a romantic at heart.” Harry said, “It’s my love for love that landed me this job in the first place.”

“You’re saying that you became the Devil because you fell in love?” Louis raised his brows.

“I think I was always meant for it.” He explained, “With my nature, it was only a matter of time before I decided to explore the living world, which is what led to me falling in love for the first time, and that’s what helped me to understand humans in a way that other celestials couldn’t. Thus, I was gifted the responsibility of handling the most impossible to understand of them all.”

“You’re saying that even angels don’t get to fall in love?” Louis wondered.

“Not that they’re incapable, but they don’t spend enough time here to form such a bond.” Harry shrugged.

“Okay, okay. So this Devil side of you. How did the witch boy expose it?” Louis directed the conversation back to the story to avoid the million other questions blooming in his head the more Harry spoke of his imaginary world.

“It started with his nan.” Harry stared off into the distance for a moment, probably replaying the scene in his head.

“Oh, that’s why you were caught off guard when I said that.” He noticed.

Harry still took a pause before confirming, “Yeah.”

“She didn’t start the whole ordeal, did she?” He wondered.

“No, she was one of the last to be accused, actually. And then that accusation spread to my lover.” Harry explained, “The trials were based on people’s fear of _me_ , and the idea is that the witches were doing my bidding. So when they decided he was one of them, I for some reason figured that revealing myself and agreeing to leave the town alone would put and end to it all.”

“You figured?” Louis was in awe of what he was getting at, “As in…?” 

“As in, they waited until I left to off him.” Harry confirmed. Sometimes Harry looked at him in a way that made him feel like the only person on Earth, and for some reason, that was one of those moments. “To make sure I wouldn’t come back again. And I didn’t.”

“Why not, though?” Louis asked. He remembers feeling a sting of anger, like how dare they keep these star-crossed lovers apart? How dare they aim all their misdirected nonsense at Harry’s heart? “You could’ve ended them all.”

Harry chuckled despite the grim tone of conversation.

“Then I’d be a murderer.” He said.

“Are you not already?” Louis asked.

“Absolutely not.” Harry’s voice was very firm. “I punish murderers. How would it make any sense if I was one as well?”

“Right, because _that’s_ the one thing that doesn’t make sense about all of this.” Louis laughed, “You’ve managed to suck me into a lot of crazy ramblings, Haz, but I draw the line at the Devil being morally opposed to murder.”

“Lou, if there’s one thing I need you to believe about me, it’s that.” Harry said. “My life is about prosecuting evil, not becoming it.”

“I don’t believe you’re a murderer, you nutcase.” Louis continued to joke about it, “The Devil, though? Please.”

“I am the Devil, though.” Harry maintained, “And I didn’t slaughter an entire town because it would only have proved them right about me.”

“Why don’t you just show me this Devil side of you, then?” Louis asked. “If you want me to buy this shit so badly.”

“Because I’ve learned my lesson.” Harry grumbled, “It’s never ended well before.”

“Why even tell me in the first place, then?” Louis pressed.

“Because I enjoy being myself around you, and it’s hard to do that when I have to pretend to be human.” He explained.

“Sounds like there’s some more stories behind that.” Louis noticed.

“I’ve been around a long time, Lou. I’ve got plenty of experience with this stuff.” Harry simply said, giving him the look like there’s more to it than he’s ready to discuss.

“Doesn’t it annoy you, though?” He wondered, “Don’t I seem kind of like a prick for not taking anything you say seriously?”

“You do take me seriously.” Harry said. “Maybe not the details of my stories, but the thoughts and feelings behind them? You listen, you contribute your own input, and you accept my point of view, despite not always understanding or agreeing with it. That’s why I keep you around, even though you are sort of a prick too.”

Louis laughed it off as they finally approached the counter to place their orders, but something about the way Harry phrased it lingered in his head for a while after that.

**

He revisits the memory now, as Harry hands the flight attendant his ID and she checks some sort of secret list that allows the two of them to secure first class seating. Harry waves the boarding passes in front of Louis’s face with a grin stretching dimples into his cheeks.

“Just like old times.” He tries to tuck the pass into the chest pocket of Louis’s denim jacket, but Louis snatches it away before he can finish the motion.

It doesn’t feel like old times at all. He finds himself wishing he could go back to the simple ease of not believing a damn thing Harry said about himself.

“Remember the World Cup?” Harry asks as they drag their bags down to security check. 

He means the one they attended in Brazil. They spent weeks shouting at athletes with beers in each hand, right on the field. They sat next to people Louis mostly didn’t recognise but knew they must have had about the same level of status. They did a kiss cam for the laughs, and Louis recalls the shudder he tucked away in his pants for Harry to never know.

There was always some small part of him that was kind of attracted to Harry, though he’d never admit it out loud. What would he look like being into somebody who couldn’t even stand to live in reality? What would his mum have thought of that? What would anyone else think? 

Having Harry’s reality turn out to be actual reality just makes it all the more frustrating. Of course the only person Louis had been even a tiny bit interested in in years would be the literal incarnation of evil. He already knew he had a taste for bad boys, but _yeesh_.

“We really don’t have to do the memory lane thing.” Louis shuts him down right away, refusing to let himself get too comfortable with the remnants of their friendship. Things are different now.

“Just popped into my head.” Harry continues anyway, “You showed me that airport game on the way. Remember?”

Louis ignores him, staring straight ahead, following the signs above them for the way to security. At least he knows enough German to decipher them now.

“I’ll start.” Harry offers, scanning the area and quickly landing on the first item, “Abflug.”

The game is essentially just _I spy_ using the letters of the alphabet. He used to play with his mum and sisters anywhere, but especially on family vacations. As they all aged, he eventually realised it was just something to keep the little ones from dying of boredom, but it still always brought a smile to his face trying to find things to fulfill the X, Q, Z portions of the game.

“You can’t use other languages, that’s cheating.” Louis says.

“We’re in Germany.” Harry laughs, “I think it counts.”

“It doesn’t.” Louis argues, “English is our primary language, so that’s how the game is played.”

“English is _not_ my primary language.” Harry objects. “And that rule was never established before.”

“Because you never tried to use one of the other fucking thousand languages you know besides English!” Louis argues.

“Well, sorrryyy.” Harry sucks his teeth. “You start then.” 

Louis debates for just a moment, but decides his comeback is too good to pass up. 

“ _Arsehole_ would work just fine, since you’re standing right there.”

Harry’s smirk says he finds it funny. “Maybe just _arse_ , for yours, which can’t be overlooked.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but doesn’t indulge further. They continue through the security line in silence and once their things are gathered again, Harry elbows him gently as he nods towards a passerby.

“Blue jacket.” He says, referring to their 90s-esque windbreaker.

Louis sighs. “Adjectives don’t count either. That would make it too easy.”

“Seems like there were less rules to this when we were friends.” Harry grumbles.

He shuts up after that, but Louis can’t help that his brain spots the next letter. He doesn’t say it at first, and Harry seemed to realise by now that his attempts weren’t working, but the silence between them makes the whole airport ordeal drag on forever. Once they get to the gate, there’s still an hour and a half left until boarding. 

Louis wanders off to find food just to avoid Harry’s presence for as long as possible. When he returns, Harry’s right where he left him, so Louis plays on his phone for a while, then texts Bebe knowing she’s asleep and won’t respond for hours anyway.

Finally, with a half hour left till boarding and the knowledge of a whole 14 hours of flight time looming overhead, he cracks, realising it’s going to be a hell of a long trip if they spend it without a word to each other.

“Baby.” He nods towards the family a few rows away, youngest child tucked warmly into their pram.

Harry responds with a look, dimple slowly carving itself into one side of his face as he fights to hold back his smile.

“Child.” He says.

“Dickhead.” Louis quips right away, pointing to Harry. 

“ _Devil_ would have sufficed.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I like mine better. I just thought of how to make this game fun again.” Louis grins, already forming a list of insults to fire off at a moment’s notice.

“Evil.” Harry says, staring him down. And Louis could come up with a thousand ways to twist that around on him, but instead he keeps the game going.

“Fucker.” He says.

“Git.” Harry blurts.

Louis snorts a laugh, “Hobknocker.”

It goes on like that for the whole game, the two of them coming up with creative, alphabetical ways to insult each other. Idiot. Jacksie. Knobhead. Loser. Man-whore.

Sure enough, they get all the way to X until Harry stumbles, unable to come up with anything. 

“Xenophobe?” Harry makes a face like he’s unsure it counts.

“I am not! That’s where I draw the line.” Louis objects. 

“Well, there’s probably one around here somewhere.” Harry argues.

“Point them out or use another word.” Louis commands as the self-appointed rule maker.

“Alright then, Xerxes.” Harry uses it like an actual insult in an actual argument, and Louis tries to fight the smile forcing its way out by turning his face into his shoulder where he can take a private moment to swallow it down in peace.

“Not English.” He finally says once regaining his composure, “You lose, Yankee.”

“Kinda feels like I won, though.” Harry falls back into his seat, meeting Louis’s eyes with that soft baby look that used to melt him into submission.

Louis tightens his mouth into a line and remembers when he used to let Daisy and Phoebe think they won. And then years later, when the four eldest used to let Ernie and Doris be the champions. Then he doesn’t have to work to swallow his smile anymore, as he turns his attention back to scrolling Twitter for some bullshit meme to distract from the smoke and fires cracking to life in his head. Harry is the whole reason they’re gone and Louis won’t ever get to play with them again.

The rest of the trip is largely unmemorable, which is how he’d prefer to keep it. They board one after the other, regrettably are seated next to each other, but Louis orders an Old Fashioned and plugs in to watch A Star Is Born on the way there. He knocks out before the end, and thankfully manages to stay out until the plane begins to descend. 

When the landing turbulence forces him awake, he notices that all his rubbish is gone, tray flipped up, and someone has placed one of the thin airline blankets gently over his body. He doubts it was one of the flight attendants, so he crumples the thing up into a messy ball and leaves it on the seat as he rises for his baggage from the overhead locker. He also deliberately leaves Harry’s bag behind and doesn’t spare him a glance as he heads towards the exit.

*

New Orleans is exactly how he pictured it from movies and telly. Possibly the most surprising part is that a little piece of it could be from almost any time period. Canal Street is lit with neon from one end to the other, and the trolleys give him a warm reminder of home. They wind their way into the French Quarter and Louis has a bit of a rough time holding back his wonder at the olden feel of the distinctly European style buildings. 

If it weren’t for the heavy American accents of the locals and tourists alike, and the air, so thick and sticky even in the early spring, Louis would swear they weren’t very far from home.

The taxi drops them at their hotel, which of course happens to be the top floor of a building just outside the centre because he’s nothing if not expensively impressive. It’s elegantly decorated inside, with a breathtaking view of the city from the flower adorned wrap-around balcony. 

There’s two bedrooms, thank God, so Louis chooses the one closest to the door to drop his stuff into. There he finds a huge bed and a clean bathroom, which at this point in time is the most beautiful part of it all. He quickly sheds his clothes and hops through the glass door of the shower. 

It’s probably a full half hour later that he comes out, skin soft and reddened by steam and hot water. Then he flops spread eagle onto the mattress.

Harry must have been waiting for the water to turn off because he knocks shortly after.

“Wanna come out with me?” He calls through the door. 

“Does it seem like I want to go out with you?” Louis snaps.

If he’s at all affected by the attitude in Louis’s voice, he doesn’t make it obvious.

“I have friends in town. Just thought we could show you around.” He says.

“I can show myself around.” Louis counters.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” The way Harry doesn’t seem to waver in the face of Louis’s clear distaste only buries further underneath his skin.

The door shutting behind Harry directly affects the way Louis’s body turns to jelly. He breathes the deepest sigh of his life and lets himself melt into the duvet.

It’s dark outside by the time he wakes and the suite is still silent in his solitude.

He yawns, stretches himself into consciousness, and rolls off the bed to get ready. He is quite interested in exploring while he can, so he throws on some jeans with a graphic tee and his favorite black Vans. Musses his hair before the mirror and sighs as it flops back into his face. Checks for his phone, keys, wallet, and locks the door behind him.

Food is the first mission, so he wanders around through the budding excitement of nightlife and ends up finding a fairly quiet spot tucked away into a dead end side street. It’s called Cane and Table and it turns out they make the best margaritas on the planet. He downs a huge one along with a plate of something he can’t pronounce because it’s all in Spanish, but maybe some kind of pork paired with rice and beans. The table next to him is loud and friendly, taunting him with inquiries about what brought him to town and how about he just joins them for a quick drink?

They’re an odd group of women and men and a couple in between or neither. By the third margarita he doesn’t remember their names, but he does know that the hippie woman with purple hair is marrying the tall lady with the dreadlocks and the guy in the leather jacket is definitely flirting with him. So when they all announce that they’re heading to the next bar, Louis asks for the rest of his orange drink in a to-go cup because apparently that’s a thing you can do in this city.

Sometime during their walk, his phone buzzes in his pocket and his excitement sky rockets when he sees Bebe’s FaceTime request on screen.

“Shhh, it’s my best mate!” He shushes the group as if she can hear before he answers. 

“It’s me best mate!” One of the ladies teases about his accent as they’ve been doing for the past hour, and the group of them burst into giggles.

Louis shakes his head in fondness. Americans are so peculiar. 

“You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up!” He waves them on as he purposely falls behind for some privacy.

“Sure thing, Lou-is!” The flirty boy has a heavy southern accent that makes him pronounce the s in his name. Or maybe it has nothing to do with that at all, but he’s fit regardless. 

Louis slows his pace to hold the camera on his face and sings a hello when her little blonde head appears.

“Hi honey! How’s it going? Do you love it? Tell me everything!” The familiar shriek of her excitement is nothing but comfort on the lamp lit streets of a place far away.

“I made friends!” He might be a little drunk, possibly on the thrill of the day. “They’re gay. Or something. One of ‘ems fit.”

“Or something?” She laughs, “Are you drunk already? What time is it there?”

“Like 9pm, and this is my third marg.” He slurps the slush through his straw for emphasis. “You can take your drinks on the street here, Bee. Like, just walk around wherever you want with them. This thing cost me 10 dollars. That’s like, 8 euro or something!”

“I know.” She laughs, “I’m from New York, remember?” 

“Now I do.” Louis says, and then he thinks about how amazing it is that they both traveled so far to end up living in the same city together and why they both left and most immediately, why _he_ left and then words are falling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Hey, I think I want to tell you something, but it’s going to sound absolutely bonkers.”

“Okay.” Bebe says, “You’re absolutely bonkers, so I’m kinda used to it.”

“No, Bee. I mean it. You’re going to think I’ve gone off the deep end, but I promise you it’s all true.” He tries his best to look and sound stern as possible. “And I know I’m a little buzzy right now, but I’ve seen this with my own two perfectly sane and sober eyes.”

“Okay Lou, what the fuck are you going on about?” This time it’s more of a nervous chuckle.

“Remember that guy who came into the bar a few weeks ago? When I dropped the glass?” He starts.

“Harry, yeah, your old friend from London.” She recalls, “You were super triggered.”

“Yeah, that’s because he’s the Devil. Like, actually Satan, ruler of Hell.” Louis admits it out loud for the second time ever and the alcohol lubes it up nice enough that it doesn’t even sound strange anymore. “To make a very long story as brief as can be, I’m immortal and we came here to find a witch who can possibly reverse it.”

Bebe is silent for a long while. So long that Louis is sure he’s fucked it all up. She’s going to have him committed. Probably getting the nearest looney bin on the line as they speak.

“Or something.” He adds, as if to lighten the mood somehow. He finds a front step of a darkened house to sit on so as to not trip himself up.

She snorts, slowly morphing it into something like laughter. But Louis isn’t laughing with her anymore, because he’s pretty sure he might have just ruined the closest friendship he’s had since Harry. Maybe ever.

“So like, wait. You’re serious?” The question comes out more rhetorical than direct, so he just nods as she sits with her confusion. 

“I’m trying really hard not to judge, but you’re literally saying the Devil is here on Earth.” She says, “And that you’re an immortal being? And… fucking witches?”

“Voodoo witches.” Louis confirms. “I’m still not sure I believe that one meself, but I’ve unfortunately seen some wilder shit over the years, so I’m just kind of rolling with it at this point.”

“You’re sure of this whole Devil bit, though?” She checks again. “You said you saw it. Did you like, see it, see it? Or could it have been a dream?”

“It was real. I’m sure.” He gulps, smothering the screaming down into the flames rising in his brain. He’s still not ready to relay that one out loud yet. “And I know it’s fucking impossible to believe without the proof yourself, but you’re gonna have to pretend you do because I need my best mate right now.”

“Okay.” Bebe says, slower this time. And so what if she’s just going along with it for his sake? Either way, she’s listening. 

_You listen, you contribute your own input, and you accept my point of view, despite not always understanding or accepting it. That’s why I keep you around…_ Harry’s voice from ages ago still bounces between his ears. Maybe it really is all that matters in the end.

She hesitates for another moment before fully catching up, “Okay, I’m here for you. So your ex best friend is the Devil and you’ve ended up across the ocean with him. Are you in danger right now?”

“No. He’s not like, evil or anything. He’s kind of nice. And cool.” Louis says, and then he sucks down the last of his drink in thick gulps to avoid admitting to himself that he just admitted that to her. 

“The Devil… is nice. And cool.” She repeats.

“Yeah, all the stories and stuff are basically made up, or twisted to make him look bad. So he says.” Louis considers that for a moment, twisting his feet against the concrete to distract his attention, “But then again, he does spend most of his time partying and fucking and I guess, stalking me now. As far as I know.” 

“Dear God, Louis. Please tell me you have not fucked the actual Devil.” Her eyes are wide as she moves the camera for a close up on her face.

He stays silent, save for the empty sipping against the bottom of his plastic cup.

“Jesus Christ.” She breathes.

“I haven’t.” He grins, chewing on the straw still flattened between his teeth. “I kind of wanted to. But we never did. We were strictly platonic friends.”

“ _Not_ funny!” She freaks. “I’m pretty sure that’s how the antichrist is born!”

“Shhh,” He reminds her that he’s in public by turning the camera to the people-filled pavements. “I suppose it’s a good thing we’re biologically incompatible, then.”

“I don’t know what to say to any of this.” Bebe is still reeling. “I believe in God. And I believe the Devil is the ruler of Hell, which is where sinners go, because the Devil is the biggest sinner of them all.”

“I mean, if that were the case, then we’d pretty much all be fucked. But he said Hell is like a super VIP club that only the worst of the worst get into.” Louis explains, “I mean like, not to burst your bubble or anything. But you’re more than likely going to Heaven, so that’s good news. Unless you’re like a secret murderer or massive scammer or something. In which case, tell him hi for me when you get there.”

“This is _a lot_ , Lou.” She presses her hand against her forehead and makes a face full of panic.

“Which is why I had to tell someone.” He agrees. 

“How long have you been keeping it to yourself?” She worries.

“Well, I only had it all confirmed before I left London.” He says, “And I planned not to say anything forever, but fuck it I guess. I miss you.”

“Forever, because you’re immortal.” Bebe acknowledges.

“It’s all fucking bizzare. I thought it was a joke at first, but I’ve tried to off myself and I just keep coming back.” He says it while casually tracing the lines between the stones underneath him.

“You _what_?” She shrieks. 

“This was long before we met, after my family, you know.” Louis dances around it like he always does. “I tried every damn thing I could think of and still woke up the next day in pain. And then I would just be back to new the day after.”

“That’s fucking raw.” She sounds so sincere in all of her reactions that he suspects she might actually believe him. Which would sort of make sense because she’s always been a bit more whimsical and open to the mysteries of the world than he is. “Sounds like some superhero shit. Why would you want to get rid of it?”

“Oh yeah, big fan of the idea of outliving everyone I’ve ever cared about.” He quips. “Everything I’ve ever known and loved, gone someday, while I’m just watching it all go on without me, completely alone in my misery. Sounds like a riot.”

“Okay, I guess I get that.” She falls back. “So then… these witches…”

She trails off, and Louis couldn’t possibly relate more to the apprehension of her scrunched brows.

“I know.” He groans, rolling his eyes up to the neon red sign across the street.

“Oh, thank God.” She chuckles, “Somehow the immortal thing is easier to believe than magic spells being the remedy.”

“Or that out of all the people on Earth, I had to be the one dumb enough to befriend the fucking Devil.” He groans.

Bebe’s really laughing now, and it’s infectious. He finds himself joining, maybe letting himself lean in to the insanity of it all for the first moment since reality knocked the fucking spirit out of him. They laugh to the point of wiping tears from the corners of their eyes. People stare as they walk by and Louis doesn’t have a care in the world to spare.

“Christ, Lou. Your life is fucked up.” She finally says, and Louis just oozes love for her. He can’t fathom there ever being a time that he doubted she’d be a shoulder to lean on in a time of need.

Whether she actually believes this mess or not is irrelevant because either way, she’s there for him. Maybe all he really needed was to laugh all the fears and doubt away.

“I’m fucked up.” He says.

“Love you for it.” It’s like she read his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	5. Chapter 5

Louis had long since forgotten about his new friends or where they were headed, but now he’s wishing he came to this city with Bebe even more than before she called.

And that all the shit he’d just spilled to her didn’t have to be the very real reasons why he was here in the first place. If she were there with him, she’d stretch her arms out for a hug complete with a loving head pat, then look him in the eyes and tell him they’re about to get so high on life that he wouldn’t even remember what was upsetting him to begin with.

Sometimes her pep talks could feel a bit like she was mothering him, and he didn’t mind that at all because sometimes he really just needed a mother.

He wanders the side streets with his hands in his pockets, letting the sticky heat of the air lead him forward, the mix of colorful buildings and neon signs flashing around them line his path through the city. Every bar he passes has music blasting, so it’s really just a matter of chance when he happens to come upon one that provides a little slice of home. There’s a nice acoustic song playing and he can get a real pint at the bar, so he slides himself onto one of the stools to watch the show.

As the crowd fades away and the band comes into focus, Louis recognizes the frontman as an old friend from his hostel days in Berlin. He and Bebe had extended the invitation for Niall to come work the bar at Naturales with them, but he proclaimed his love for music and Mother Earth wouldn’t allow him to settle in any one place for too long and eventually set off into the world again.

What a twist of fate that would land him in the same city at the exact time of Louis’s first visit.

“Tommo! I couldn’t believe that was really you!” Niall comes to greet him immediately after finishing the last humming notes of a song about meeting a fling on a night out.

“Nialler!” Louis greets as they smack hands and pull each other in for a bro hug like no time has passed at all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Niall asks, sliding himself into the seat next to Louis and waving for the bartender’s attention.

“Hell is pretty much the gist of it.” Louis chuckles to himself, chugging from his glass as Niall puts in his own order. “I’ve got some uh, business to take care of, with a friend in town. What’s your story?”

“Same as ever.” Niall says, “Hopping around the states these days. Been in NOLA for a month or so, but I’ll probably stay a bit longer. I’ve grown to love this city. The music, the food, the history, the people. My kind of place.”

“Makes sense for you.” Louis nods, “Since you brought up the history, what’s your take on the whole witchy thing going on here? Is there anything to it?”

“You mean like for real?” Niall almost laughs, his voice light and teasing. “You trying to find your way into the covens?”

“Just trying to absorb the culture.” Louis lies right through his teeth, “Although Bee did recommend someone for me to see while I’m in town.”

“Oh, Bebe!” Niall coos, “I miss that little lady. How’s she doing?”

“Really well. I’ll pass along the message. She’ll be stoked I found you here.” Louis fakes his way through the formalities, getting back to the only fucking thing he’s been able to think about since Harry wedged his way back into his life, “She was telling me about a Ms. Cecile, supposed to be like, the voodoo queen or summat.”

Niall’s face suddenly drops, his eyes become very focused on Louis’s, brows scrunched together.

“What did she hear, exactly?”

Louis shrugs, interest piqued by the harsh reaction. “What did you hear?”

“People don’t like to give details, but she’s like a running legend or something.” He gulps down a swig from his own glass. He puts on an old southern grandma’s accent to mimic, “Ooh chile, betta watch ya mouf ‘fo Ms. Cecile getchu!”

Louis laughs, maybe in bad taste, maybe in blatant fucking ignorance, but he’s really struggling to grasp the concept of any adult human being actually fearing something as juvenile as a voodoo queen. “What’s she gonna do? Manifest you to death?”

“Apparently she’s like a dark magic connoisseur. Hexes and sacrifice and all that.” Niall shrugs, “There’s a rumor she cut some little girl’s tongue out for talking back to her once… Dunno if I believe it, but I don’t dispute anyway. People here are weird about their superstitions. And to be honest, she’s not the only one they’re afraid of.”

“So maybe there is a bit of something to it?” Louis tries.

“Are you feeling okay?” Niall jokes, “The Louis I remember wouldn’t even entertain the idea of this stuff.”

“Oh trust me, I am trying my hardest not to.” He mumbles, taking another sip and rolls his eyes at himself now.

He’s in one of the most renowned party cities in the world. The whole reason he wanted to separate from Harry was to forget about Devils and witches for a while, so it must be time to do just that.

And it works for a while. He really has missed Niall. The three of them had been a tight little trio back in their travel industry days. He and Bebe were both devastated when Niall chose the nomad life over the dynamics of Berlin, but couldn’t blame him for following his heart. It was pretty common for the hostel types to only stay for a spot of time before popping over to the next country anyway, but it also meant they’d sort of lost touch over the years.

Now it feels like no time has passed as Niall catches him up on all the things he’s seen in his travels and they compare hookup stories and bar stories and life stories.

It feels like hours between countless beers and cigarette breaks when they notice that the crowd has begun to thin, if only slightly. The clock says 1:07 but Louis feels like he could keep going until 7:01.

Thankfully, Niall seems to be on the same page.

“Have you checked out the music scene at all yet?” Niall asks as they near the end of another pint.

“Since landing about six hours ago?” Louis laughs, “I wandered up and down Canal Street, got on with some Hen Night in the Quarter, then wound up in here with you.”

“Right, right, forgot you just got here. Man, I’m so excited for you! Let’s get a gator dog first, then head to my favorite spot.” He suggests. “Hope that business deal of yours isn’t tomorrow morning.”

“Some things never change.” Louis grins.

Niall has always had the energetic spirit of an 18 year old. He could party for days and then show up to work a 12 hour shift like it was nothing. Although he also cherished the recovery period where he’d spend an equal three days in bed with a basket of snacks too.

He insisted that the most NOLA thing to do at 1am was to get a gator sausage topped with fries and smothered in Andouille sauce, so that’s exactly what they did. Louis didn’t think it was anything special, but the time spent on a drunken food mission with his dear old friend certainly did heart some good. In a pleasant turn of events, it’s suddenly become one of those nights he never wants to end.

At some point, he sends a selfie of the two of them to Bebe and she responds with another FaceTime call. Louis can hardly think about anything except the warmth of the night over their excited shouts of love to each other, so when Niall hands the phone back with a goodbye to Bee as they march into the next spot, Louis is thoroughly distracted. He stands outside the door to have a cig while he lets Bebe gush on about how great Niall looks and how she wishes she could be there with them both, then he sends his own love before disconnecting.

When he finally makes his way into One Eyed Jack’s, he finds Niall cosied up at the bar with yet another familiar face. It’s all angles, dark scruff and dark eyes, and it makes his stomach flutter and drop all at once with memories of shared drinks, drugs, and beds over a slew of midnight gatherings that could hardly be called parties.

“How very nice to see you again, Z.” Louis keeps his voice polite, even as he leans over the bar to put in an order of straight tequila and lime asap.

“Louis! Always a pleasure!” Zayn hops up to wrap his arms around him in a huge hug that stiffens Louis’s frame underneath.

“You know Zayn Malik?” Niall laughs, “What a coincidence you’d run into two old friends on the same night?”

Louis forgets he’s a pretty big name in the modelling industry. He’s just so… so, Zayn. Down to earth, carefree, a damn good time to be around. He is also something of a skinny addict, but aren’t they all?

Louis always felt a sort of kinship whenever the two of them were left alone together; it was never awkward but more so bursting with chatter in a way that Zayn didn’t seem to engage with anyone else. He was the type of person to leave celebrity events early in order to ring his real friends for a more intimate, less pressure hang out at his place. Louis liked being one of those people, even if it was only on the tails of Harry’s invitation. He likes to think that at some point, Zayn was inviting the two of them because he grew to like Louis too.

“Not a coincidence,” Louis sucks down a gulp of his drink as soon as it’s presented to him, never unlocking eyes with Zayn. “Where’s Harry?”

It’s Zayn’s turn to laugh, though Louis can’t find the humor in it. “As if we’re attached at the hip or something?”

Louis gives him a pointed look.

Zayn rolls his eyes, nodding towards the stage at the front. “He’s about to go on.”

Only in New Orleans would someone be taking the stage at this hour. He’s not even sure any of these clubs have a closing time. Maybe after sunrise, if that.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a jazz bar?” Louis nods towards Niall.

“Never know what’s gonna be playing.” Niall shrugs, "That’s what I like about it."

“I’ll take that to mean you and H haven’t managed to squash your little squabble yet?” Zayn asks.

“Not quite sure it’s mutual, mate.” Louis comments, decidedly avoiding a direct answer.

“It isn’t. You’re the one being a brat.” Zayn sips his Whiskey.

He’s serious, but the way he calls Louis out so directly is something to be appreciated and annoyed with all at once. He’s not sure just how much Zayn even knows about the whole situation, but if all the times Harry’s referred to him as a demon can be regarded as the truth, he can bet that Zayn might be the only other person on the planet who knows the full extent of beef between them.

“I am not.” Louis scoffs anyway, because he’s a little bit drunk, a whole lot stubborn, and simply doesn’t give a fuck.

“Harry fucking loves you, mate. He’s a ride or die if there ever was one.” Zayn argues.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Louis maintains.

“No,  _ you _ have no idea.” Zayn laughs this time, sucking down a sip of his drink. “It’s a travesty in itself that he’s even still giving you the time of day, though I suppose I can objectively understand why.”

“Oh really, what’s your theory, then?” Louis leans his forearm on the bar now.

“I’m not here to give you an ego boost.” Zayn snorts. “This one on the other hand…” he trails off, looking over at Niall as he bats those pretty lashes of his in the way that never fails.

Niall looks past Zayn to Louis with a silent focus back from their days of club scouting together. Asking permission to proceed, because their friendship is never worth risking over a lay, and Louis is honored to find that even a world famous model couldn’t come between them after all this time. He gives a tiny nod of approval and Niall grins with glee.

Louis steps out for yet another cigarette break as he lets Zayn’s completely unwarranted advice sink in. He hates that it had any effect on him at all, never mind that Zayn is impossible not to like and respect enough to consider his point of view.

Maybe there is a tiny part of him that occasionally tries to whisper that it might be unfair to aim all his anger at Harry. Because while he’s tapping into the drunken heart’s translation of his sober mind, he finds that maybe it’s not the immortality that infuriates him the most about all of it. Maybe it’s just the completely devastating grief of losing the people he loved most of all, the powerlessness of not being able to do anything about it. The piercing knowledge of no future resolve in sight.

He never actually wanted to die; he’d rather have not watched them die in the first place. Or secondly, would prefer to bring them back somehow. But he can’t do either of those things, and neither can Harry, and the fact that he won’t see them again even in another life is just the piss icing on top of the shit cake.

But the fire wasn’t Harry’s fault. He didn’t kill them, he just chose to save the one person there that he cared about the most.

And if Louis is choosing to buy Harry’s entire story, then he has to consider that maybe Harry did just have an intense moment of desperation and didn’t realise that all his pleas would actually work in his favour for the one time in all his eternal life. And if that’s the case, then Harry didn’t even mean to save anyone in the first place and it was just some big, unexplained accident that Louis was unfairly holding against him. Which didn’t reflect well on him at all.

Especially because it’s obvious that Harry’s giving his best effort to reverse his mistake and make it up to somebody who had immediately cut him off without even hearing him out.

If he was truly going to give into his own drunken honesty, then Louis had to admit he’d kind of been a shit friend since this whole event transpired.

**

In the first waking moments of The After, his eyes fluttered open to his own bedroom in London, with Harry standing somberly over him.

He remembered flames. Unbearable heat and tortured screaming. Charred skin and wings larger than his brain could even contain.

It must have been a dream because Harry looked like a normal human again. Maybe it was just a traumatic delusion caused by being stuffed to the brim with stories of Harry’s double life since the beginning of their friendship.

“Louis!” Harry gasped. “You are alive!”

“Am I?” Louis asked, blinking himself into full consciousness as he looked around the quiet room. 

“Your heart stopped beating! I swear I thought you were gone!” Harry reached a hand up to grab at the roots of his hair in obvious distress. “You were out for so long… and then you just recovered, and I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what to do.”

_ Why didn’t you bring me to a hospital? _ Louis had wondered, but instead his mouth said, “So all that really happened then.”

Harry hesitated, watching him carefully. Then he let out a deep breath and let his arms fall to his sides again.

“Yeah. It did.” He said, “And Lou, I am so sorry.”

He couldn’t even process the reason why Harry would be sorry for him. Logically, his brain knew that he meant  _ sorry for your loss _ , but the extent of that loss hadn’t quite sunk in yet. It didn’t make sense to say that his family had died in a house fire. That wasn’t how his life was meant to go. He didn’t think he could even live with the reality of their nonexistence.

“How long have I been out?” He asked instead of addressing it.

“A couple days.” Harry said, “Your skin started healing as soon as I got you to the car and I didn’t think any human medical professional would know how to handle that, so I just came here to wait it out.”

“I just healed myself?” Louis repeats.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Harry confirms.

“Was it bad? Was I burnt badly?” His brain latched onto that instead. Maybe it was just a normal healing process that seemed manageable for some reason.

“Louis, it was awful. I genuinely thought you were dead. You didn’t even look like a person.” Harry stared him right in the eyes, emerald burning brighter than the memories that flicked throughout in Louis’s head.

He sits up and stretches his limbs one by one, examining himself. He looked fine. His skin the same tanned tone as ever, tattoos in all the right places. He felt up to his head for hair, growing as normal from the scalp that felt healthy as could be.

He didn’t feel weak or broken in any way. In fact, he remembers feeling physically better than he had in maybe ever.

None of it made sense. How could this be his life? Where was his mother? His sisters? His darling baby brother? His nan and pop and the cousins he hardly sees but cherishes all the same? They couldn’t really be gone forever. It wasn’t fair to think that he’d never see any of them again.

“My family?” He muttered under his breath, finding it hard to avoid the truth for any longer. “Oh God, I…”

He couldn’t even form the words, couldn’t even think them, just filled his head with echoing screams and the mother who’d literally give her life for him.

Why did he have to be the only survivor?

Then he remembered Harry. He remembered the image of the actual real live Devil, just like Harry had always claimed he was, cradling Louis while the bodies of his loved ones turned to ash nearby.

It wasn’t fucking fair. Why couldn’t Harry have saved them instead?

“I’m so sorry, Lou. I—

He was shaking his head before Harry could even finish. “Get out.”

He doesn’t know where the words came from, but they were out, and they felt right, so he didn’t falter.

“What?” Harry blinks.

“Get the fuck away from me.” The memories of Harry’s blackened skin came flooding back, images of scorched wings and a satanic language. The empty booming of his voice, the wings, the warmth of his deformed body. There’s no way Louis could’ve imagined it. It would be too much of a coincidence.

“Lou, I know you’re upset, but—

“You really are the fucking Devil!” Louis shouted, scooting backwards on his bed, further away from Harry. “You did this to me! My family! Oh God… Shit. Fuck! I’m such a fucking idiot! You were right here all along!”

Harry’s whole being dropped, his face being the first indicator as the rest of his body followed suit.

In his human form, he looked so sweet it nearly crushed whatever was left of Louis to bits. The pink pout of his lips, the shimmering shock in his widened eyes. As if he were actually innocent in all this.

Louis forced himself to remember the burning flesh, the screaming. Wrestled with himself to hold back the vomit.

Why couldn’t he have saved them too?

“Get out!” Louis yelled, throwing a pillow because it was the first thing in reach. “Leave me alone, you monster! This is all your fault!”

Harry didn’t have anything to say for himself, and that only fueled Louis’s rage. How dare he take everything from him and then have the gall to stand there and try to offer comfort as if anything could ever be the same again?

“Get out! Go!” Louis shouted with all the might in him, this time reaching out for the lamp at his bedside to hurl right at Harry’s stupid fucking head.

He reacted quicker than Louis could’ve ever expected, whipping his arm out to deflect the thing back at the wall. They both paused for a moment as they let the shattering sound of the ceramic pieces fill the air.

And Harry just stared right through Louis, still at a loss for words.

“Well?” Louis hissed, “What are you still doing here? GO!”

Harry didn’t seem to have an answer, because he simply turned on his heel without a single word.

“And don’t fucking come back!” Louis continued to shout after him. “I never want to see you again!”

He never heard a door shut, but he felt lighter when he knew that Harry had disappeared.

The sobbing tsunamied over him after that.

**

He can hear from outside that Harry has taken the stage now, but Louis isn’t ready to go back in yet. Watching him on stage would be too much like the old days, especially when even listening from a distance hits like the sting of winter.

Once upon a time, he knew the words to all of Harry’s songs, but it makes sense that he’d have penned some new ones in their time apart. This one starts with gentle acoustics and ghostly vocals floating through the open doorway, and for the first time he wonders what it must’ve been like for Harry without him.

_ I just left your bedroom _

_ Give me some morphine _

_ Is there any more to do? _

Did he really spend all his free time digging around in the Hell for a cure, or just when it suited him? Who’s to say it wasn’t easier to find than he’ll admit, that he didn’t just stumble upon it one day and then remember Louis’s affliction and decide to reach out?

Could Harry actually have missed him like he claimed to? Is Satan himself even capable of feeling such complicated human emotions as longing and remorse?

He turns to look through the window at a distant Harry in the back of the bar. Keeps puffing at his cig because going inside still feels bolder than he’s ready for.

The way Harry moves is subtle, smooth like the winding of a snake over sand. It lures Louis’s minds to ideas of other movements, like the wide press of Harry’s hand on the curve of his back and the pulsing sinews of his legs as they move in time with his thrusts. Things he hadn’t dared to imagine in the years since he decided to erase everything Harry from his mind. Though he was always grateful for their platonic bond, there was always a little attraction too, despite all his quirks. That was never quite resolved either, just got buried underneath mountains of anger and grief.

_ Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door _

_ Hoping you'll come around _

_ Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor _

_ And maybe we'll work it out _

There’s a chance it wasn’t written about him, but some of the lyrics hit close enough to home that he finds himself wondering who else it could possibly be about. Harry seemed to be mostly over all his past loves, or at least had enough time to reach a healthy place about his feelings for the list of them. The Harry Louis knew spent more time living in the moment or looking towards the future than harping on the past. He knew there was always more life to live, love to be had, and fun to be found.

And boy, did they used to have fun together.

Grocery shopping with Harry was fun. So were all the celebrity events, of course. But even just taking a midnight stroll through the streets became something to remember when Harry was involved.

Eating competitions between the two of them at hot pot buffets. Jetting off to Japan for a weekend here and there. Replacing Harry’s workouts with hours of footy or laser tag instead. Sun tanning at Jamaican resorts. Movie marathoning in their pjs on a snow day. Making breakfast for dinner on a Tuesday evening.

Hell, the countless hours spent listening to Harry ramble on about the latest demon antics rippling out into his life was an adventure for Louis.

He loved his life in The Before. It was even better with Harry.

How can that make sense? Everything Louis has ever known about the Devil points to evil. And yet the Devil he knows is the kindest, most caring, wildest ride of a person he’s ever met.

He chain smokes through Harry’s set, too afraid of his own past to venture indoors and enjoying the muted sound of it from outside. He’s got a lot of memories to cycle through, set to melodramatic melodies with lyrics like  _ I always think about you and how we don't speak enough _ and  _ I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch who can't admit when he's sorry _ .

He always has known how to carve deep into the pit of a soul with his words. Even in The Before, Louis always teased him about how his subject matter managed to feel like a callout to the deepest pools of Louis’s hidden insecurities and desires. And maybe even then, it was.

And maybe Louis is fucking delusional and grabbing at straws for even entertaining the idea.

More likely, Louis hadn’t realised how tiny his view of the world was until forcibly expanded by things he would’ve sworn were impossible before. Now it feels like his intuition has grown a little wiser, too. Or that he’s just learned to listen to it instead of automatically marking off the things that pop into his head as ridiculous.

Somehow Harry’s music feels more poignant with all this distance between them. At least back then Louis could tell him which lyrics worked, what emotions they inspired. Now it feels like a dirty little secret that Harry’s able to invoke anything within him at all.

There’s more, of course, a few upbeat songs that don’t seem to be about much of anything, but those handful of lines are the ones he keeps burrowed in the cavities of his chest as he finally re-enters the building. Harry’s marching around on stage, swinging his arms like a maniac as he yells about having someone’s baby, so Louis quietly slips in behind Zayn at the bar to order another drink and watch with the smallest hint of a smile that, try as he might, he can’t manage to hide away.

Harry’s sweaty when he comes off the stage and he greets Zayn with some kind of bro-handshake that ends in a hug.

He looks right at Louis over Zayn’s shoulder when he asks, “Enjoy the show?”

And the unspoken intent swirling behind his eyes makes Louis squirm in his seat.

“Niall dragged me here.” He nods towards the blond who’s looking at Zayn with fucking diamonds in his eyes. Louis can only imagine how stoked he is to have pulled a male model. He’s already used to the female ones by now.

“What are the odds?” Harry asks, cheeky as ever as the two of them finally separate.

“Must be higher than you’d think.” Louis half-grumbles as he chugs from his glass.

“Lighten up!” Zayn interjects, directing a request to the bartender, “Round of shots on me. Whoever can take it without making a face gets another, till we all puke or pass out.”

“No thank you.” Louis still maintains his stance, because who would he even be if not a tough nut to crack?

“Devil’s candy, then?” Zayn snorts. “Uppers, downers? Pick your poison.”

“Do all you little hellions just have an endless supply of drugs spewing out of your arse at any given moment or what?” Louis quips.

“It’s more like a Pez dispenser than an endless spew.” Harry fires right back, and dammit if it doesn’t endear Louis against his better judgement.

“Fuck’s sake, give me the shot, I guess!” He always did like Zayn’s feisty spirit. Probably says more about him than anything else that he gravitates so strongly towards Devils and demons without even realizing it.

“That’s my boy!” Zayn cheers as they’re all slid a tiny glass of clear liquid.

Because two of them are supernatural beings and the other two only humans gifted with slight alcoholic tendencies, nobody makes a face. It’s a good thing Zayn’s got model money because otherwise they’d only have Harry’s devilish charm left to settle their tab.

“So, Z, tell me.” Louis starts somewhere between the second and third rounds. “Is there a point to demons running around on Earth or do you just live for the chaos?”

“The latter.” Zayn laughs, “Humans are wild, unpredictable creatures. Gets me going something fierce.”

“The fuck are you guys on right now?” Niall laughs, having no idea the seriousness of their conversation.

“Shh, have another.” Zayn slides his glass pint closer to him.

“He better remember this tomorrow. I’ll be checking on him.” Louis warns.

“Oh, relax, Lou. Have I ever shown you anything but the utmost respect?” He rolls his eyes.

“Sure you have.” Louis says, “I don’t know what to expect from you with others, though.”

“Relax.” Zayn says again, but the fact that it’s accompanied by a wicked smirk isn’t exactly comforting. “I’m always a perfect gentleman with my suitors. They don’t tend to come back for more, otherwise.”

“I prefer if you weren’t a gentleman with me, actually.” Niall alludes, drawing Zayn’s attention back to him.

Louis squints suspiciously as he takes a sip of his own drink.

“Your friend is safe.” Harry leans down to whisper in his ear from behind. “There’s rules to follow here. Zayn’s good about that.”

He does wonder what these rules are, but the shiver that jolts down his spine at the touch of Harry’s lips against his ear distracts him from asking.

He isn’t sure what time it is when they finally decide to pack it in, but the sun is just barely starting to kiss the sky back into a soft blue. The streets are as empty as he’s seen them yet, and even still there’s a few groups of people dotting the sidewalks here and there. The last of the nightlife, finally stumbling off to bed just like the four of them. Niall and Zayn say their goodbyes and take off in the opposite direction of Louis and Harry’s hotel, which leaves the two of them to walk back together.

And it’s just starting to break into a new day, Louis is completely wired, beyond exhausted, and feeling a little braver than usual from the alcohol sloshed in his tummy, so he just asks Harry the thing he hasn’t stopped wondering since it popped into his brain earlier that night.

“Have you ever written a song about me?” He quirks his head to the left as he looks Harry in the eyes to decide how honest he’ll be. They seem to sparkle more than usual in the twilight hour.

“You know I have.” Harry says without fear, letting the statement linger for a while as he stares back. And maybe it’s Louis’s newly recognised intuition about the hidden truths of the world that stir the idea that he’s purposely avoiding naming any of them.

“A.M., don’t you remember?” He finally says, picking a safe one that Louis already knew was inspired by their friendship. It’s not the one he was asking about and Harry knows that, but something about songwriting feels so personal that Louis won’t force him to admit anything else.

“You haven’t played it in so long, I honestly didn’t.” He chuckles as the melody instantly floods his brain. Slow guitar and warm, comfy sentiments. “We’re just swimming round in our glasses…”

“Talking out of our asses…” Harry finishes, soft and low, more of a hum than a song. “I play that one all the time, actually. Just not when you’re around.”

“Why not?” Louis wonders.

“Besides you not being around for a while?” Harry chuckles, “I guess I’m afraid I’ll scare you away again, by pushing too hard for you to remember the good times.”

He lets that linger for a moment.

He’s not quite ready to say he’s not going anywhere. Harry very well could scare him off again. The reveal of his Devil form took literal years to even kinda sorta accept, and he’s still struggling to stick together that image with the perfectly normal human standing in front of him now. It still feels like two completely different entities.

“I do remember them.” He admits, turning his gaze straight ahead as he elaborates, “It’s not the good times that I have trouble with.”

Harry sighs, letting the steps of his heels against the bricks beneath their feet punctuate the silence.

“I write about you all the time.” He steers the conversation back to easier things, but that simple comment conveys the message that if it feels like it’s about him, it probably is.

Which leads him to wonder just how deeply Harry must actually care about him to be affected on such a level that he writes about him all the time. How often is  _ all the time _ for an eternal being anyway? Exactly how many songs does Harry have that Louis could tie back to all of the good and the bad between the two of them?

But before he can begin to formulate a response, Harry adds, “I really do miss you, Lou.”

A wave of nostalgia washes over him, softening him into pure cotton fluff with all the strong moments shared between them. The ones that resonate most deeply aren’t full of flashing cameras or dance club beats or even the adrenaline high of drug concoctions in their systems.

The things that fill Louis’s heart up now are the millions of smiles flashed his way whenever he told Harry something that made him proud. A montage of laughter at the bar, on the sofa, during a midnight walk. The softness of Harry’s shoulder and the gentle sentiments shared as they cuddled in for a movie. Heavy hands resting on his shoulder in moments of stress and comfort. That encompassing warmth every time they shared a knowing gaze from across a crowded room, every time Harry’s tongue brushed over his lips amidst their stares, the taste of his breath after parting from a falsified kiss.

Louis sighs. Even though he kind of agrees and the words are dancing right there behind his teeth, he can’t seem to set them free just yet.

It all feels so fragile. Sure, Harry used to be someone he’d have no problem saying that to, but after a total of a day and a half reunion, it just doesn’t feel like this is going to last. Who knows where they’ll stand even tomorrow, assuming the ritual fulfills its purpose? Something about even trying to continue a friendship with Harry after what happened to his family feels like the ultimate betrayal.

“I will admit that tonight was fun.” He finally says, “But there’s also a truckload of liquor contributing to that.”

“Isn’t there always?” Harry jokes.

“No.” Louis says firmly, now stuck on the highs of their friendship that he wants to make sure Harry knows weren’t a fluke, no matter what ends up happening between them, “Sometimes it’s sober you and me. Pjs and romantic comedies.”

Harry looks at him with that face that holds back a thousand things he knows wouldn’t be appropriate to say if Louis isn’t on the same page as him.

“You know…” He decides, tucking his own hands into his pockets as they approach their hotel, “In my thousands of years, I never felt more human than when we were just wasting time together.”

The way he says it doesn’t warrant a response, just like Louis’s sentiment before it. He just wanted him to know. And that’s… well, that’s something that Louis could carry with him for thousands of years himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	6. Chapter 6

Louis rolls out of bed like a block of cement the next afternoon. He stretches his arms, cracks his back, and hauls himself to his bathroom for a piss and a big gulp from the basin because who needs etiquette in your own private room?

When he scoots his way out to the living area, Harry greets him mid-run on the treadmill by the balcony window.

“Morning, sunflower!”

The first thing Louis notices is definitely not a smooth set of abs glistening with sweat in every crevice or a tuft of loose curls stuck flat against Harry’s forehead with it.

No, the first thing Louis notices is how impossibly fast he’s going, and that recognition kicks in when Harry beeps some buttons to gradually slow it down and step off.

Louis absolutely does not watch as Harry dabs his face with the towel, doesn’t follow it down his neck or over the bulge of his shoulders, and under no circumstances does he find himself caught in a trance when Harry swings it around his neck, grabs his water bottle and throws his head back for a sip. If Louis does happen to notice the bob of his throat and conjure up the single word _swallow_ to describe its motion, it’s only because Harry practically shoved it in his face.

When Harry’s tongue darts across his lips and parts his mouth shortly after, Louis is not too busy focusing on the freckle just to the left to process the words coming from it.

“Hello? Lou?” A single clap of Harry’s hands suddenly demands his full attention.

“Sorry, what?” He’s playing it cool. He is. Harry has never noticed all his silent lusting before and he’s not about to start letting it slip now.

“I asked if you’re hungry,” Harry repeats, “I know this great Creole spot past the residential end of Canal that’s not super touristy, if you’d like to join me.”

Just like the good old days.

Is that something Louis is even ready for? It felt like such a big thing last night, but in the light of a new day seems so inconsequential. His natural instinct is to say _sure, my treat this time_ , because he’s pretty sure he still owes Harry for the last two times they had lunch several years ago, and maybe the fact that he even remembers such a detail should count for something.

And maybe his family would be rolling so far over in their graves that their coffins would crumble to pieces underground.

Louis gulps. His gut says maybe it’s time to loosen his grip on the sack filled to the brim with rage that he’s been hauling around all these years. His conscience wonders _what would mum think?_ How would any of them feel to find out he was even considering the idea of forgiving someone who chose to let them die?

His logic wants to trust that Harry didn’t know what he was doing. Didn’t know that all his panic would lead to Louis living forever. His heart tugs towards the thought that it’s kind of touching to know he means so much to Harry that he begged with everything in him to just keep Louis around.

Above all, his stomach screams _feed me_ , so that’s the call he ends up following over all his confusion.

“I suppose you’ve never led me wrong with a food rec before.” He decides, holding Harry’s gaze, giving him the tiniest inkling of reciprocation.

Harry smiles a perfect pair of dimples into his cheeks.

“Cool. I’ll have to put a shirt on though, is that alright?” It morphs into a shit-eating grin just as quickly and Louis feels himself redden to his toes.

Still, he rolls his eyes and turns back towards his room to shower and change.

“Put on a fucking parka for all I care.”

*

“So when are we meeting this Voodoo lady anyway?” Louis asks when they’re sitting face to face at a table in one of the quieter back rooms of the restaurant.

Harry ended up wearing a striped shirt with some embroidered jacket, but the pearl necklace, bright red nails, and sleek black shoulder bag are what really makes it work for him today. Not that Louis is still paying attention even when he’s fully clothed. It’s completely normal to take general notice of how your friends present themselves in public, isn’t it?

Things had never once been awkward between him and Harry in The Before, so he wasn’t expecting such an inconsequential thing they’ve done a thousand times together to suddenly feel quite so intimate in ways he can’t find the words for. It’s like a first date, almost. Like getting to know him for the first time with brand new eyes to see the real person he’s been all along.

“Well, she lives all the way out in the bayou.” Harry reaches for a bread roll from the basket between them. “So we’ll have to arrange a boat to reach her cabin.”

“Of course we will,” Louis laughs out loud at the huge fucking joke his life has become almost overnight. They have to take a fucking boat out to some cabin in the middle of nowhere to meet the witch who’s going to reverse his immortality, because that’s the cliched horror film he’s suddenly starring in.

Harry raises a brow at his exaggerated reaction.

“Shall we head there after this then?” Louis chooses to just keep rolling with the punches of his new, twisted reality.

Harry snorts a laugh of his own.

“Lou, you can’t just roll up to Cecile’s place all willy nilly.” He says, “She’s appointment only.”

“Since when have you ever needed to make an appointment for anything?” Louis raises a brow.

“Nevermind that appointments are part of my daily business.” Harry rolls his eyes, “Voodoo trumps Devil regardless.”

“You’re really that scared of a little voodoo magic?” Louis is teasing, but Harry’s face stays solid, his eyes stone cold as he stares back.

“Yes.” He says simply.

“It’s that serious?”

“It’s the only earthly thing that can touch me.” He explains, “It’s far more effective on demons, but there have been times where I’ve been summoned against my will. Forced me into situations I’m not proud of.”

“You can feel shame?” Louis asks, honestly wondering what kind of situations the Devil could get into that he wouldn’t be proud of.

“I’m the same person you always knew, Louis.” Harry lets just a hint of strain leak into his tone. “The only difference is that now you know I’m not mental.”

“Debatable.” Louis tilts his head. “What kind of situations have you regretted?”

Harry stares at him in that way, contemplating how much of himself to reveal.

“The last time I tried to be fully transparent with you, you threw a lamp at my head.” He reminds him.

Louis purses his lips.

“You’re right,” He admits, “And I’m sorry for that. It was… an intense moment for me.”

“Thank you,” A smile blooms on Harry’s face, “But I’m not going to push my limits. We still have at least a couple more days together and I much prefer to spend them in harmony than a furniture storm.”

Their server comes to deliver the bottle of Merlot they requested, pouring out a glass for each of them and disappearing again once their food orders are placed.

“How about you enlighten me on what kind of appointments the Devil has to make, then?” He asks once they’re alone again.

They both reach for their glasses, take a sip, and place them back on the tabletop in a perfectly mirrored movement.

“Ah, how I missed this.” Harry chuckles at his inquisitive nature, leaning forward with his elbows on the table to cradle his face between his hands. He looks positively adorable, but a single sip of wine isn’t near enough for Louis to give any weight to that thought just yet.

“I’m curious what it is that you think I get up to when I’m not faffing about on Earth?” Harry’s eyes settle their spotlights on him.

Louis shrugs. “I imagine it involves sitting on a fiery throne among a lake of tortured souls, pointing at horned demons and yelling out orders to all who dare cross you.”

Harry bursts out laughing, his whole face expanding with the joy of it. Louis honestly forgot how nice it was to see that, let alone inspire it.

“So I’m close?” He teases, watching as Harry settles into more of a cheeky smirk.

“It’s mostly just a series of business meetings.” He says, “I reach out to my existing clients to let them know I’ll be dropping by for contract negotiations. Sometimes they’ll give me a call first, when there’s something they want from me. However, it all happens with significantly less flames and torture than you think.”

“Existing clients? Contract negotiations?” Louis quirks his head to one side.

“People actually do sell their souls to me, Lou.” Harry explains. “They have to know someone who knows how to get in touch with me, of course, but once properly connected they’d then submit a formal request for what they want and I follow up with my offer of X number of years in exchange for a room in Hell at the end of it. Then it’s just a matter of collecting payment or extending the deal when their time is up.”

He’s not sure about the moral leaning of such a task, but given the person in question he supposes damning a person to Hell for all of eternity _with their consent_ to be a pretty mild offense if anything. Assuming the Harry he knows isn’t actively preying on the poor and needy, if the person seeks him out and literally offers up their soul to him, who is it really affecting besides their own self in the long run?

“So how does one get their deal extended?” He wonders.

“By offering me something useful.” Harry says, tracing the rim of his glass with a single polished finger. “I won’t say I’m above taking trivial things like large sums of money or drugs on a slow decade, but I prefer personal connections that end up paying out for far longer than a quick fix. The larger scale dealers, forgery experts, shady businessmen, music moguls, corrupt politicians and such.”

“You’ve mentioned that’s how you get ahead in life.” Louis reaches for his own glass to swirl while he asks, “But what exactly is the benefit of collecting souls in terms of Hell management?”

“Besides keeping the demons busy while I’m away? It’s far more beneficial to humans than myself, especially since I’m already so involved in earthly affairs these days. It’s rare that someone can offer me something I don’t already have.” Harry shrugs. “Really, it turns out to be more work for me in the end. But if they want something badly enough, who am I to deny them the option?”

“A never ending loop of misery and pain in exchange for a few years of joy in life sounds like a bullshit deal for the human too.” Louis notices.

“I won’t pretend to understand the rationale behind it.” Harry agrees. “But the things they ask for tend to deviate greatly from the picket fence lifestyle I think you’re imagining.”

“How so?” He wonders. “What’s the typical request?”

“Pass.” Harry brings his glass to his lips for a longer sip.

“That bad?” Louis’s interest is piqued.

“It can get gruesome.” Is all Harry says.

“How gruesome?” He pushes, growing even more curious about the kinds of evil things he could have possibly granted, “You’re not out there helping serial killers achieve their dreams, are you?”

“I don’t respond to that kind of stuff, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.” Harry purses his lips. “They’ll end up with me anyway, though.”

“So you don’t respond because there’s nothing in it for you?” Louis asks, borderline suspicious. 

“I suppose you could say that.” Harry shrugs, slyly defending himself before Louis can truly begin to question his morals, “Like most other living beings, I don’t find much reward in helping murderers and pedophiles.”

“Touché.” He tilts his head as he sips on his wine, “What kind of requests do you end up responding to, then?”

“Money, fame, positions of power.” He says, simply.

“And what does it mean for them to actually pay up?” He presses, “Like, what’s the work for you on the supernatural side of things?”

Harry groans, taking an actual gulp this time. “Like an infinitely worse form of customer service, where the customers are actual hellions who never stop complaining about their assigned sectors. And they’re not afraid to attack and destroy things when those concerns are left unsatisfied.”

“So, customer service.” Louis summarizes, earning himself an amused smirk.

“They’re like fucking children, it’s bananas.” Harry agrees. “They know they can’t win, but they’ll go kicking and screaming the whole way. Literally. I’ve had demons destroy their entire sector just to get my attention.”

“And exactly how many children do you have throwing these massive tantrums on a daily basis?”

“Oh, Louis. Hundreds.” Harry looks like even speaking the reality of it is painful.

“Hell kinda sounds like torture even for you.” He assesses.

Harry hadn’t been subtle about his disdain for it, but Louis never had the stomach to ask the questions that would lead him to consider why. If he had hundreds of screaming toddlers destroying the house to look forward to at the end of a long day full of business meetings and no end to the cycle ever being a possibility, he might not be so fond of his job or home life either. He might go looking for an escape elsewhere too. Might blow off his responsibilities for a few hundred years himself.

“Why do you think I prefer to keep my time there to a minimum?” Harry takes another long sip to cope. “Occasionally I’ll get to vanquish a rogue who’s abusing their power on Earth, but it’s hardly worth the other 99% of rubbish there is to deal with.”

“Demonic delinquents.” Louis hums, picturing. “What do they look like? What’s really under Zayn’s human suit? And why wouldn’t he be considered rogue?”

“Because Zayn doesn’t cause trouble enough to harm anyone beyond a dozen broken hearts here and there.” He explains. “The ones on Earth are all monitored under strict regulations. No murder, torturing the living, revealing true forms, using their strength or influence to overpower humans. Here, they’re basically at the mercy of the human race and if they try to subvert that, it’s my job to clean up the mess.”

“And what does cleaning up the mess entail?” He wonders.

“I usually like to intimidate a bit beforehand.” He smirks, “But it ends with a quick snap of my fingers to banish them from existence.”

“Like, they’re just gone forever?” Louis asks, “Just by you snapping your fingers?”

Harry nods. “Used to be they’d turn to stone, but I complained when I started to have no room to keep them all.”

“Who do you complain to?” Louis leans in, “If I remember correctly, there’s just like, an invisible force meant to keep you in check.”

“Bingo.” Harry smiles. “Very occasionally, one of my grievances or passing thoughts will be settled accordingly, but I have no idea when or which ones will be answered. Like when… uh. When you…”

Harry trips over the words in fear of saying something upsetting, but Louis is far too interested in the details of his work to be affected.

“And the horns?” He casually drifts the subject back to let Harry know just how unfazed he is.

“Yes. Demons have horns.” He confirms. “They look a lot like me, minus the wings. And their eyes are a shade of black that doesn’t exist on the human spectrum.”

“That’s fucking creepy.” Louis comments, falling into a sit against the back of his chair. He sips from his glass while he lets that digest.

“So if you’re like a pro at appointments, it’s safe to assume you’ve already arranged ours?” He asks after a brief moment.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” He says, “I know you prefer not to get up early.”

“Especially on holiday, so thanks for that.” Louis nods.

Still, he’s left to consider the possibility of the rest of the day stretched out before them for a brief moment. It feels like it’s completely up to him whether they spend it together or not, but just in case, he phrases his next question carefully.

“Is there anything else on your schedule for tonight?”

Harry pauses, clearly confused by where the sudden change of heart has come from, but also unwilling to ruin the moment by asking. Louis has always appreciated how he seems to understand the things that don’t need to be spoken between them.

“Completely open.” He shoves a bite into his mouth that’s so big his next word comes out muffled, “You?”

“Nothing either.” Louis shrugs, completely calm and casual as he stares down into the swirling glass to avoid eye contact. “How about dessert? I hear you can’t visit NOLA without a trip to cafe du monde.”

They used to make late night dessert runs all the time. Back in London, their little cafe served cookies and ice cream till 3am, so the two of them quickly became regulars thanks to countless coke binges after closing shifts. He knows Harry won’t be able to resist.

“You know I can’t say no to that.” Harry’s dimples pop in to say hello.

Louis fills up on a big bowl of seafood gumbo, while Harry picked the jambalaya so they could share for the two most classic tastes of Louisiana. Slowly but surely, the conversation keeps flowing, although they manage to dance around the heavier stuff about what led to their separation and the sheer amount of each other’s lives they missed in that time. It’s all current events and media opinions and reminiscing about some of their happier days.

Louis feels a bit lighter by the time their bill is paid and they’re heading out for beignets.

The queue for their sweets is absolutely ghastly when they arrive, so they pass time by scanning through the bustle of life happening around them and try to point out the most ridiculous sights they can find.

There’s a street performer nearby who’s twisting himself into all kinds of odd shapes, even dislocating some bones to escape from the straitjacket he’s put himself into. The painters across the court sit at their table set ups surrounded by displays of their wild creations, and a man walks past with a parrot on his head as he blows bubbles for it to pop as they float upwards.

Once their bellies are absolutely stuffed to the point of bursting, so begins their aimless wandering through the streets. Louis rationalises it as more sightseeing to avoid admitting to himself or, God forbid, to Harry that he actually just doesn’t want their hangout to end.

At some point, Harry pulls him into an alley and says, “You ready?”

And Louis doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to but the instinctual trust takes over his logical mind as he says, “Sure.”

Harry just stands there for a moment, grinning like a madman, and then his fingers find their way into the spaces between Louis’s to drag them both back into daylight. Louis’s heart starts pounding faster than he can count, but his brain can’t settle on any of the thoughts zooming around his head to say them out loud so he just blurts something completely unrelated to the glue keeping their hands interlocked.

“What was that about?” Louis asks, but the answer comes quickly as a passing family stops to indulge the sweet little girl in a Princess Belle outfit with a look of awe on her face.

“Mister, your costume is so cool!” She yells, reaching an arm out to press against Harry’s leg. And Louis is confused because Harry just looks like his regular self, but suddenly other bystanders start to take notice too, stopping to stare or whip out their cameras at the two of them.

“Thank you, so is yours!” He beams, sideways looking at Louis to gauge his reaction of a confused brow raise.

“What costume?” He whispers, but Harry avoids answering.

The family continues on their way and so do the two of them, settling into a leisurely step over the bricks of Old Town New Orleans. Nearly every single person they pass by turns their head to follow Harry’s path down the street. Some people gasp or press themselves close to the wall as they can get. A few shutters close from the homes towering above.

“What is going on here?” Louis chuckles nervously.

“They can see me.” Harry says, low enough for only the two of them to hear.

“Like… the real, Devil version of you?” Louis mirrors his hushed tone.

“Devil version.” Harry confirms.

“Well, why can’t I?” Louis feels his face scrunch together.

“Didn’t want to freak you out.” Harry says, “But I thought the night could use some spicing up.”

“Freak me out,” He scoffs, willingly walking into the trap Harry’s laid for him, “Need I remind you what the past few days have been like?”

“You know it’s real. Most of them don’t.” Harry explains. And it’s true that in this city it would make more sense for people to perceive him as nothing but another exhibitionist trying to scrape by with a few pennies of tourist money. What reason would anyone have to suspect he might be anything else?

“I want to see.” He decides on the spot.

“You sure?” Harry raises his brows.

“Yeah. I don’t like not being included.”

Harry breathes a chuckle through his nose, “But can you handle it?”

“Let me see.” He demands this time, letting a pout leak into his voice that earns a full blown laugh at his dramatics.

Harry finally takes a step back, holding Louis’s gaze as he lets his skin begin to slowly peel itself away, embered edges disappearing behind his head to leave nothing but charred muscles and a pair of massive, pointed tip wings growing into place from behind him.

Louis is only halfway surprised to find that he doesn’t feel as viscerally repulsed as he had the last time. Maybe it’s the vast difference in circumstance and the fact that he wasn’t prepared to face the reality of Harry’s true identity before, but now it’s something he’s had time to sit with. This time he prepared himself by asking to see it.

And this time, in this situation, his mind begins to make the connection; this is the Devil, also known as Harry Styles, Harry, Haz, sometimes H. And Harry is Louis’s friend, which obviously means that the same creature standing before him now is Louis’s friend.

He reaches his fingertips to brush across the warmth of Harry’s cheek. It doesn’t burn like he’d expect it to; it’s just a bit warmer than normal human skin.

Harry stares back at him with a silent fear behind his eyes, mirroring the worry that Louis had wound himself up with before he decided to let Bebe into this part of his life. He says a silent prayer that Harry’s eyes remain exactly the same glass bottle green as before because he’s sure that the impossible demon black would be too much too handle. The eyes are what really solidify the fact that it’s the same Harry he’s always known and loved.

Looking so close and concentrated into Harry’s soul like this sends a shiver down his spine. Maybe it’s the change within himself that can be attributed to the swarming butterflies inside, or maybe something about Harry’s been changing too. Either way, it’s all so different now that Louis sees the eyes behind the monstrous outside.

“So this is the joke you’re always laughing at without me.” He finally says.

“The fact that I can literally walk around in my natural state of being and people still don’t believe that I’m the Devil?” Half of Harry’s mouth turns up into a smile.

“It is quite funny.” Louis smirks along with him.

They pop in and out of funky clothing shops and little magic boutiques until Louis tires of people staring and stopping them for photos that Harry tells him won’t reflect what they’re seeing in person anyway. It feels a little bit like being famous, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He suddenly understands why Harry’s never pursued a record deal, despite being talented enough to have earned it. He can’t imagine living like this every day, especially with Harry being so fond of being true to his authentic self. That’s something he definitely couldn’t do with a spotlight on him at all times.

When he requests that Harry revert back to normal, it happens to be on a nameless residential street left silent in the dark of night.

Louis steps back to watch his human suit grow back over his body, mesmerized by this behind the scenes look at what feels like real life CGI effects.

But it’s real, and it’s his life now, and maybe he is warming to the idea of getting used to it at some point. The idea of keeping in touch with Harry for long enough to witness it again on occasion.

And then Louis remembers that if this ritual goes as planned, then until tomorrow afternoon is all the time they’ve got left.

When the full transformation is complete and human Harry reappears in his pointy boots and a dashing floral suit, Louis takes a step towards him again.

He reaches for Harry’s hand, the same one that he held on and off today without a word of acknowledgement from either of them, and rubs over the back of it with his thumb. It’s soft and still warm, but now Louis can see the veins pumping blood through it. It doesn’t make logical sense for a whole winged entity to fit inside a perfectly normal human body, but maybe that’s part of what’s always captivated him about Harry to begin with. He does not make any fucking sense.

“Impressed?” Harry looks down at him with a cheeky grin.

“Oh please. Any normal human would be.” Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the flip flopping of his stomach as the bubble of wonder is effectively popped.

He drops Harry’s hand and crosses his arms tight over his chest as they continue their stroll through the city until they eventually round a corner towards the center of the French Quarter again. The commotion there works to pull his brain out of itself and back to reality a little.

“Do you know what this is?” Harry suddenly asks, nodding towards a big grey building on the corner of the street.

“The most prison-esque looking home to ever exist?” Louis guesses.

Harry chuckles as they head towards it down the sidewalk, “You’re not entirely wrong, I suppose. Worse, though.”

“What could be worse than being hopelessly trapped in a place of punishment against your will?” Louis teases, a dig at the very core of Harry’s life purpose.

“Being an innocent subjected to the same torture.” Harry says, stopping outside to… admire, or something. He just stands in front of the place, tilting his head as far back as it goes to scan the building upwards through all the windows.

“That happened here?” Louis asks.

“I’m actually really glad we stumbled upon this. I’d personally rate it the number one thing to see while you’re here.” He dances around just naming the fucking building, true to his brand of infuriating mystery. “You know I live for the morbidity of life, though.”

“And this is our main event, the Lalaurie Mansion.” The comparatively cheery voice of a tour guide leads a group of people to a stop outside the building on the opposite side of the street. They hold their phones up to snap their photos and listen to her practiced speech. “Now, if you’ve ever seen season 3 of American Horror Story, you’re probably already familiar with Delphine Lalaurie and some of the atrocities that transpired here.”

While Harry studies the house, Louis gets an earful of a description of house slaves treated less than animals, tortured bodies found mangled beyond belief, people jumping to their deaths just to escape, and the engulfing house fire that exposed it all.

Eventually she gets to talking about people who’ve bought the house after the Lalaurie’s fled town and how its most recent buyer had it completely remodeled into something more modern and habitable.

Louis starts to think about the rigidity of the structure and what it represents. The fact that it suffered the same fate as his mum’s place and could still be standing today means it must have been restored at some point. And if that were possible, even though he had no clue about the current state of the battlegrounds where his family lost their lives, the simple idea that it could be rebuilt into something more grand than before was sort of comforting.

“Are they going inside?” Louis whispers, still watching the tourist group across the street.

“It’s not open to the public.” Harry tears his eyes away from the building to meet with Louis’s. “But we can if you like.”

He should’ve known Harry would have some sort of privilege to make that happen, but it’s an exciting surprise regardless.

“You know the current owner or something?”

“Well, no, but the first owners are long time tenants of mine.” Harry breathes through his nose at the joke, “That’s not how we’re getting in, though. Close your eyes.”

Louis raises a brow. “Is this legal?”

“Do you care?” Harry asks.

Louis snorts. “Guess not.”

In yet another grand show of trust in Harry’s abilities, Louis squints his eyes shut for just a quick moment before Harry’s telling him to open them again.

They’re standing on the glossy checkerboard floor in the foyer, all bright from the moonlight through the stacked windows and surrounded by a big spiral staircase that stretches three stories high.

Louis isn’t even going to ask how he did that. Maybe being friends with the Devil does have its perks.

“We’re not alone. As per usual.” Harry announces as he turns his head around to the left and right to get a full scope of the room.

“Who’s here?” Louis asks.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s the spirits of the departed?” Harry counters.

“Feels like I don’t have much of a choice anymore.” Louis says. Everything he used to be sure about doesn’t seem to hold up in Harry’s world, so despite his reluctance it is getting easier to accept all of it. “Are they angry?”

“Just sad.” Harry’s voice sounds as empty and eerie as the room suddenly feels. “They still carry so much pain. I wish I could help them.”

“I know I’ve had the pleasure of seeing your true form and all, but how is the actual Devil so goddamn compassionate all the time?” Louis wonders out loud as he lets the staircase capture his attention, call him to explore the upstairs rooms. He takes the first few steps slowly, admiring the contrast of the elegant polished marble and mahogany under his dingy old Vans.

“I promise I can be scary, too. I just try not to let you see that side of me.” Harry says, “And I also genuinely don’t want to see anybody suffer unless they deserve to.”

“That scary side of you…” Louis hums, thinking it over. He’s honestly never gotten even a tiny glimpse of Harry being anything but sweet and lovely to everyone he meets. Maybe sometimes a little curt or grumpy, but everybody has those days. He’s kind of curious to see what Harry is like when he’s really Deviling around. “Do you like, lose all humanity or what?”

“Depends on how you define humanity.” Harry says, “I certainly feel less human, but to say I lose it all might be a stretch. I’ve been mingling with you guys for nearly as long as I’ve been alive, so it’s kind of hard to just turn it off at this point.”

“What would turning it off be to you?” Louis fishes, “Your definition of humanity.”

“The intensity of your emotions are the biggest distinction.” Harry says, “Other species have them too, of course, but human life is far more complex than any other. Thus, so are the perceptions and reactions.”

“And you’ve evolved beyond that?” Louis wonders.

“Well, I certainly don’t think I was created to be quite so… passionate.” He chuckles, “Rebellious, even. But here I am.”

“In what ways? Beyond the whole ditching the Hell throne thing.” Louis asks.

“I simply don’t like to follow rules.” He says, “Mingling with humans is the most cardinal sin a celestial can commit. I’ve seen angels lose their wings for it.”

“What does that mean for the angels?” He definitely needs some perspective on this one.

“An angel who loses their wings becomes a demon.” Harry elaborates. “It’s pretty much equivalent to getting fired for punching the boss in the face without reason.”

“As opposed to having a reason to punch the boss?” Louis teases.

“Sure, because at least there’s some justification.” Harry shrugged.

“So you’re saying that mingling with humans is completely nonsensical?” He presses on, “Some higher power designed this whole world to its liking, for what? To just sit back and watch us tear each other apart?”

“All life was developed as an experiment. Plants, animals, humans. But at some point you guys evolved too far, and then it became a question of whether it was morally right to eliminate you. Or to interfere in any way.” Harry explains.

“And you interfered anyway.” Louis observes.

“I was the first to act on my curiosity.” Harry admits, “One visit to earth and I was hooked.”

“On what?” Louis wonders, completely baffled by the notion. In his personal human experience, people often felt trapped by the endless loop of expectations they’ve created for each other, so the idea that anyone could actively strive to be a part of it is beyond anything he’s ever heard. “What about this place made you want _more_ of it?”

“Free will.” Harry says simply.

“As if you don’t have that already?”

“I don’t. My purpose is to rule Hell and that’s it.” Harry explains, “Humans get to grow. They get to pick which path to follow and if they want to change their mind, they can just do things differently. They can career hop, fall in and out of love, start a family, even abandon it and start over if so inclined.”

“As if that’s something to be proud of?” He gawks.

“In most cases, no. But the choice is still yours.” Harry counters, “And when all’s said and done, you get to pass peacefully into a world of no hurt, struggle, or responsibility. I’ve never wanted anything more than just the freedom to live and die that way.”

Having not even believed who he was to begin with, Louis never considered his reasons for spending so much time on Earth. He never imagined there was this much hiding inside Harry’s heart.

“I’m sure it looks like I’m doing well for myself, but really I’ve just been living in my own punishment for so long that I’m past the point of caring.” He sighs, “Being my own person means more to me than anything the Higher Powers could inflict on me at this point.”

“Punishment?” Louis wonders. “Beyond the whole screaming children waiting at home thing?”

“That’s certainly part of it.” He cracks the faintest hint of a smile and focuses his attention down the long hallway when he adds, “And in the human life I’ve chosen, everybody I care about ends up dead.”

“Harry…” Louis hesitates, half joking to lighten the mood when he responds with, “I hate to break it to you, but that’s everybody’s life. Humans live what, 80 years on average? You’re going on like 10,000 probably.”

“I know that, you twat!” Harry playfully smacks his arm, “The people I love die _early_. They get sick, they’re murdered, there’s some kind of freak accident…” He looks at Louis through his peripherals, then back ahead again. “Their lives are always cut short and I’m left alone, feeling like it’s my fault for even getting close in the first place, knowing how it always ends.”

Louis doesn’t have anything to say at first, because suddenly it sounds all too familiar.

 _Please, I can’t do it alone anymore…_ Harry’s broken voice begged over Louis’s limp body what feels like an entire lifetime ago now. The call of a being so weighed down by literal millennia of grief for all his lost loves.

“Then why keep doing it to yourself?” Louis’s voice comes out strained. He’s trying really hard not to regress back into blaming Harry for how his own life has turned out, but the admission is suddenly glaring right at him. Harry knew that cozying up to Louis would endanger his life, but he selfishly ignored it anyway.

And then there’s the fact that Louis could have chosen to leave him alone at any point, too. So maybe it’s his own self that he’s been angry with all along.

“The mess of this life still beats out the agony of Hell management.” Harry shrugs. “At least there’s still some semblance of beauty and joy to be found here.”

If the ritual worked, Louis would only be taking from him again. Something about the idea of that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, but on the other hand, if Harry had let him go with his family in the first place, he wouldn’t have to watch Louis die again. And if Harry didn’t keep coming to Earth in the first place, he wouldn’t have to suffer through death after death to begin with. He’s practically torturing himself at this point, and there definitely is all kinds of irony in that, but Louis is too focused on the metallic sympathy on his tongue to make sense of it right now.

“So what exactly are ghosts, anyway?” He settles on a subject change instead. “They’re dead but didn’t make it to Heaven or Hell. Why is that?”

Harry spares him a sideways glance, then offers a sound of relief.

“They usually have too much of something left to pass on.” He says. “The ones here, for example, spent so much of their waking life in pure misery that their energy never fully died, even when their bodies did. Other times it’s anger, guilt, loneliness that can keep people around.”

Louis might still be holding onto some of those things himself, so he wonders if there’ll be anything left of his soul if he does end up passing on tomorrow. Sends a silent thank you to the freaking Higher Powers above that at least his family didn’t end up trapped on Earth forever.

It’s hard to believe that so much blood was shed in the same place that looks so clean and classy in present day. They enter a parlour on the second floor with a striking red couch and crisp white love seats, a black marble fireplace and a candle chandelier. A grey-themed dining area with a dark timber table, drapes to the floor and an angel pattern carved into the moulding around the room. A bedroom that’s all beige and cream, and another one that’s all black and royal purples with touches of gold.

It’s when they come to the attic staircase that Louis freezes. Because the fact that it’s lit with red bulbs all the way to the top is eerie enough, but there’s also a man standing in perfect clarity at the top. He’s all skin and bones and completely exposed including his insides. His intestines hang freely out of the split across his stomach, splattering on the floor by his feet. Mushy tangles of pink flesh and bright red blood.

Louis gags to himself, trying his best to hold back the actual vomit that threatens to escape in fear of showing disrespect. It’s not as if the ghost can control his appearance in the afterlife. He just didn’t think it fair to be subjected to such a gruesome reminder of his suffering even after death.

“What are you doing here?” The man asks through a thick accent. Sounds like some kind of African, but Louis doesn’t know enough about the continent to pinpoint a specific country.

“We just wanted to have a look around.” Louis says, “Sorry to bother you. We’ll be on our way.”

“Not you.” The guy says, eyes never leaving Harry. “You. Haven’t you brought enough pain to us yet?”

“The evil was not of my making.” Harry says, “Best look towards the God you begged to save you for that.”

“What do you know of my God?” The man asks.

“It is creation.” Harry says simply. “I am destruction.”

“Yes, it is you who destroyed our lives.” The man argues. “You who brought the monster upon us.”

“That monster is suffering for all she’s done to you, because of him.” Louis finds himself defending Harry’s honor all of a sudden? And isn’t that quite the new development.

“You dare speak to his glory?” The man widens his eyes towards Louis now. “You have no idea how we have suffered!”

“Louis, we need to leave. Now.” Harry whispers.

“You are not welcome here!” The man is yelling at Louis now as he takes a heavy step forward, down one step, and another. “You are not welcome!”

He keeps marching towards them, organs flopping and squishing underneath his feet, and Louis feels his heart jump out of his chest with each step closer.

“Eyes closed.” Harry says, so Louis doesn’t take another second to think as he squeezes them shut and prays to a force he suddenly believes in for at least that moment.

“Open.” Harry’s voice comes in the next second, and when Louis obliges they’re back in the hotel living room.

His head is reeling. He’s not sure if the ghost could’ve physically hurt him, but the way Harry jumped ship makes him think it could’ve.

“He knew who you were.” Louis processes out loud. “Does that happen often? People recognizing you?”

“Here, it’s not completely out of the blue.” He shrugs. “This city is not only riddled with departed souls, but full of witches and the extremely superstitious.”

Louis did notice some people hiding while Harry walked around in the open earlier, but he thought it was just out of irrational fear. He didn’t realize they might have actually known it was real.

“So ghosts and witches automatically see you?” He asks.

“Anything beyond the living realm does, yes.” Harry says, “And witches have the ability to dabble outside of this realm, so may have had an encounter, or are at the very least equipped with the knowledge of which energies to approach with caution.”

“And are these people all… not happy to see you?” Louis guesses.

“Louis, who in their right mind would be happy to see me?” His voice teeters somewhere on the edge of a slightly delusional laugh. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I don’t know.” Louis admits, just sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space as his brain takes a moment to catch up.

“Do you need some water, or something?” Harry offers.

“No, I just…” He pauses, shaking his head to look up at Harry now. “I think we might be friends again.”

“Well.” Harry tucks his hands in his pockets. “Not that I’m not thrilled to hear it, but what changed your mind?”

Maybe it sort of began with their game at the airport, but the past couple of days have been too interesting to pinpoint one exact moment where he decided to let Harry in again. Maybe it was still happening in the present moment.

“Seeing how that man reacted with such hostility makes me want to stick up for you. Hell, I _did_ stick up for you at the risk of my own well being.” He says, holding Harry’s gaze as he lets him know, “It’s just a shame that people won’t even spare a chance to get to know you. Even though I do sort of understand the hesitancy.”

Harry lets that linger for a moment, clearly trying to hold back a smile for some unknown reason. Louis knows for a fact that he isn’t the only person to ever actually enjoy Harry’s company, but maybe his opinion just means that much to him.

“Thank you for saying that.” He says, “I really needed it.”

Louis has softened too much. So much in fact, that he’s wondering if _friends_ would even be the right word for what he feels looking at Harry now. It’s like the whole world lies behind his eyes. And in a way there’s always been a whole other realm to explore there, but now Louis almost feels more comfortable digging around the corners of Harry’s mind than he does in the waking world he’s always known.

“Also, what the fuck? You can transport in the blink of an eye and we’ve wasted all this time with planes and shit?” He scoffs, running as far away from that train of thought as he possibly can.

Harry laughs, “Only within a certain range. You think I fly all over the planet for fun?”

“In first class? I probably would.”

“Then what exactly are you complaining about?”

And in that particular moment, he can’t come up with one single thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	7. Chapter 7

They arrive at the swamp boat rental shack in the late afternoon, just before the sun begins to lower itself from the highest point in the sky. It’s hot and sticky outside as usual, and there’s a few people setting up for the next tour block. They’re busy bustling around, hauling things on and off the boats, spraying the deck, organizing the inside of the shack that’s been decorated with counters and various souvenir item displays to disguise it as a lobby. But the dock is clear of any tourists for the time being, so Louis suspects it was planned that way.

As soon as the two of them step inside, the man behind the desk freezes as he sizes Harry up with his eyes.

He’s chosen to blend in today, opting for a pair of overalls with one side left unbuttoned and hanging loose over a cotton tee that in reality probably costs more than Louis’s rent. Louis thinks he looked nice though, like a real down home country boy with those big green eyes and effortless curls.

“You must be…” The stranger’s voice is thick with the heavy drawl of the southern states, and he doesn’t finish the statement.

“I am.” Harry confirms.

He picks up a walkie talkie and says into it, “Boss. The signal.”

“I told you what the signal is, you dingbat.” Another accented voice answers through the device, “Don’t just say ‘the signal’, goddammit.”

“Gator eyes to the left. Gator eyes to the left!” The front desk guy yells back.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, I’m comin’.” Boss replies, “Try not to burn the fuckin’ place down.”

“He seems fun.” Louis comments.

Harry looks down at him and cracks a smile. The front desk guy just keeps his widened eyes locked on Harry like he’s afraid that anything he says could get him a bullet to the head quicker than he could finish saying it.

Do they know exactly who he is, then? Do they actually believe it without any proof? That seems so naive from Louis’s point of view. Not that they would be wrong in their assumptions, but regardless, it felt good to be in on it after all this time.

They all just stand awkwardly around for a few more silent minutes before someone else finally enters the lobby.

“Well, hi there, Mister Devil, sir.” He takes the dingy baseball cap off his head and tips it towards Harry. “Name’s Liam Payne, _Swamp Days_ dock owner.”

“Just Harry is fine, thank you, Liam.” Harry says, voice sweet as watermelon sugar.

“Sounds dandy, Harry. And how’s about your guest here?” He nods towards Louis.

“Louis.” He introduces himself with an outstretched hand.

It all feels much more formal and tense than he expected. He hardly ever sees Harry in what feels like such a business setting despite the dingy backdrop; all of the formalities are usually taken care of behind closed doors so that by the time Louis gets to reap the benefits of Harry’s power, he doesn’t actually get a glimpse of how people react to him.

It’s kind of hot to see it in action.

“Right this way, y’all.” Liam says, leading them out to one of the more bigger vessels at the corner of the dock. “Of course, we reserved the best for our most VIP person.”

It’s still an airboat like the others, although slightly bigger and cleaner. It’s all a lot less fancy than what Harry usually prefers, but he insisted that it’s the quickest way to travel through the swamp. So Louis follows his lead to the highest seat in the middle, scooting in next to him as Liam begins undoing the ties keeping it anchored in place.

“What an honor to be considered your most Very Important Person person.” Harry teases with that half smirk of his as he watches Liam work.

Liam clears his throat, turns upward to catch Harry’s eyes for just a moment before tilting the brim of his hat again. “Sorry about that, sir. Won’t happen again.”

“Oh come now Liam, all in good fun.” Harry laughs.

He looks like he’s not sure if it’s a trap or not, but he does give a weak chuckle before turning to settle in behind the wheel at least.

“Tough crowd.” Louis jokes.

The world quickly becomes nothing but a contrast of greens and blues in the form of trees so high and far that Louis would have to bend his neck back to see the tops of them as they ride by. The sky expands into a bright blue, clear and vast in a way that inspires the notion of just how small his existence on the planet is. And as the wind claims his hair through the midst of it, he finds himself overwhelmed by the beauty of life itself. It hasn’t seemed to fully cement in his head that this may be the imagery he takes with him to the afterlife yet.

Occasionally they pass a pair of gator eyes peeking out of the water, but they all sink under the surface before their boat can approach too closely.

Various shades of the surrounding forests further engulf their surroundings the deeper they venture into the bayou, and as the eerie feeling begins to creep over him, he’s suddenly hyper aware of Harry’s hand pressed into the cushioned seat merely inches away from his own. The beat of his heart pulses louder in his ears, as if to ask in succession, _how is this any different than all the other times we’ve sat next to each other? Why do I suddenly feel the urge to scoot closer for no particular reason?_

Liam drops them off on a little bank in the middle of nowhere. The sun nears the end of its setting in the distance and the only things around are miles of murky water and the sound of crickets and unidentified birds.

“Are you sure this is the right spot?” Louis whispers as he steps off the boat and onto soft moss first. 

“You folks know the way from here, I reckon?” Liam calls from where he stays put at the steering wheel, only sparing a last look over his shoulder while Harry follows closely behind Louis.

“Yes, we’ll be just fine, thank you again, Liam.” Harry smiles as he slides a hand onto Louis’s lower back to guide him away.

“Y’all be safe out there.” Liam tips his hat before starting the boat and driving off onto the horizon.

“Are we meant to walk the rest of the way?” Louis guesses.

Harry simply smiles and says, “Eyes closed.”

*

They appear just outside of a rather sturdy looking cabin, fully surrounded by the cover of messy trees. An alligator welcomes them with a low hissing sound from just a few feet away, which makes it easy for Louis to spot the absolutely massive thing watching them closely. It’s not as if he has to fear for his life or anything, but still. Getting torn apart by a gator would probably hurt like a bitch before his body could eventually regenerate.

“Come in.” A voice calls out before they can even reach for the door.

Louis looks up at Harry for confirmation and he nods to urge him to continue.

“Hello?” Louis only pokes his head in at first.

It’s fairly close to being exactly what he expected. There are various tapestries hung from the walls that depict everything from astrology maps to herds of animals to ghostly imagery of decapitated skeletons. There’s trinkets lining all the furniture on the edges of the room; everything from hour glasses to crystal collections and massive piles of remnant wax left over from used candles. The lighting is dim thanks to the several that are currently lit.

A tall woman with dark skin and a poof of black curls stands by the curtain door at the farthest end of the room with her arms crossed, although she does begin to approach as soon as she greets him.

“Well come on now, I don’t bite. Though I’d bet you’re not too worried about that based on the company you keep.” Her voice has that familiar mix of French and American Southern, what Louis has come to recognize as the trademark Creole accent of Louisiana.

“Cecile, how lovely to see you again!” Harry enters with arms stretched wide open.

“Mm.” She looks him up and down, resting her face on a wordless pout as she steps past them to close the door. Louis is hit with a powerful stench of lemon and cinnamon; a uniquely sharp sting, but not unpleasant.

“So this is the one?” She looks Louis up and down once.

“This is indeed the friend we spoke about.” Harry confirms.

“You and your human friends.” She sucks her teeth in pity that feels strongly directed at Louis.

“Tell me, honey,” She addresses him directly next, as she circles around in a way that makes him feel like a piece of meat. “I’m told that you have been gifted with the strength of eternal youth, a fate that some of us would quite literally sell our souls to obtain.”

She gives Harry another look; something unreadable that speaks to the history between them.

“Why do you wish to undo this?”

“I, um.” Louis really can’t understand why people keep asking that question. Who would want to be trapped in the living world for all of eternity? Is there some secret about the afterlife that he’s missing? Some secret about life on Earth that he hasn’t grasped yet?

He just settles for the extreme simplification of, “Lost my family.”

“Haven’t we all?” She asks as she invades his personal space to bring them face to face. Her eyes are so deep and brown they feel like they’re swallowing him whole.

“It was a horrible accident.” Louis swallows, stuffing the rising shrieks from his memories back into their mental box as to elaborate, “My siblings were young. My mum was my best mate.”

“That’s enough, Cece.” Harry interjects, all traces of friendliness effectively zapped from his tone. “His reasons aren’t important. You said you could help.”

She holds up a hand to sush him, never breaking eye contact with Louis.

“To help, I must first understand.” She says, nodding for him to continue as if he hasn’t already given a good enough reason.

“I want to be with them.” He goes on, searching for whatever it is that she’s looking to hear.

“How sweet.” He can’t tell if her comment is genuine or mocking at this point.

“Can you do that for me?” Louis is growing impatient.

“This is something that you’re sure of?” She checks.

Louis nods. She reaches her hands up to cup his face on either side, but he takes a startled step backwards to avoid it. She blinks in astonishment as if no one has ever done such a thing before.

“Then I can do this for you.” She crosses her arms ash she respectfully recoils. “But only if you are absolutely sure.”

“I’m sure.” He says again.

“We shall see.” She tilts her head to the side before turning in the opposite direction towards the back curtain, saying before she disappears behind it, “Come this way.”

Louis looks over at Harry, not sure how to proceed. Harry just shrugs and nods towards Louis to go after her.

Then he remembers that voodoo is the only thing on Earth that Harry fears, second only to Louis’s death, and realizes that his current company is probably not the best source of support at the moment.

A wave of missing Bebe washes over him, only drowned out by the one shortly after that yearns for his mum twice as large.

*

The back room is much simpler; adorned with a single bed in the middle that’s draped all over with quilts and blankets. There’s a circular woven rug on the floor and again, a plethora of candles lining the walls. Yet another curtain conceals the back corner of the room, which makes Louis wonder if this is just some kind of trick house containing room after room until you disappear into the void at the end. A diorama of some dried bones hangs from the ceiling, which is also a little concerning, but he’s not about to question the methods of a supposed expert.

“Here is how the ritual goes.” She announces to the both of them as she tucks behind the curtain for a moment. The sound of glass clinking together and boxes shuffling around leads him to conclude that it’s just some kind of mystical supply room.

She reappears with a mason jar of something dark and a large, ugly greenish-orange stone clutched in her palm.

“It begins with ingestion of the purified swamp.” She reaches towards Louis to shove it in his hands.

“You want me to what?” He holds the thing up in front of the candle light to hopefully see through. It’s all just blackened sludge.

“You must drink the mud.” She clarifies, her tone suggesting it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay,” Louis chuckles, thinking it must be some kind of prank. He looks over his shoulder to Harry, who’s made himself scarce in the corner of the room. “You got me, H. Good one.”

“Lou.” Is all he says, but his completely statuesque expression fills in the blanks. And if that weren’t enough, the voodoo lady’s pushiness would be.

“You don’t drink, you don’t die.” She scolds, “It’s no difference to me, but I imagine you didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

Louis hesitates. He really didn’t know what he had in mind, but drinking a jar of mud was not it.

“Before we go on, can you tell me the whole thing? So there’s no more surprises.” He asks.

She stands her ground in cold silence, but Louis wasn’t made of jelly at birth either. So he waits it out until she breathes a troubled sigh.

“You drink the mud to back up your system, it’s to corner the spirit in your body while I draw it out.” She starts, “Then you lie down, holding the bloodstone against the beat of your heart. This is to direct the spirit’s release." 

Louis nods his understanding, absorbing the process as she continues her description.

“I sprinkle the bone dust over your body to draw the energy out. While I do this, I also chant the spell for untethering spirit from the flesh. This will feel like flames against your skin if it’s working." She says, “Your eyes begin to droop, landing you in a coma that will last roughly two days. When the ritual is complete, you vomit on my floor. This is your soul being expelled from the body. Your eternal friend cleans the mess, and then I send him on his way.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all, then…” Louis mumbles, head reeling as he stares at the jar still clutched between his hands.

“I will ask again if you’re sure about what you want.” Ms. Cecile prompts.

This time, he grants it a serious moment of consideration. He supposes it was rather naive of him to think this would be simple, seeing as nothing worth having is ever easy. A two day coma, though? It’s practically the same thing as being dead, innit? And that’s exactly what the goal is here… innit?

“You’ll be here the whole time?” He turns to Harry.

“You want me to stay?” He asks.

“Of course,” Louis nods, “I don’t want to go it alone.”

“Okay, then of course.” Harry nods.

Still, he takes a few more seconds to caress the glass underneath his fingers. Once he manages to choke down its contents there’s no turning back, because he sure as Hell isn’t about to force himself to choke down a jar of mud for no reason. And it’s not as if he’s having second thoughts, but everything just seems so big and final all of a sudden.

“Okay,” He says to the jar, then up to face Ms. Cecile, “Then yeah, I’m sure. Let’s do it.”

*

It tastes exactly like wet dirt. There’s no other way to describe the way he tastes every grain on his tongue, the smell of pure earth invading his senses as he gags more than a cupful down his oesophagus. She won’t even let him take a swig of water afterward, so he just has to sit with the feel of it in his mouth the whole time he lies down with the ugly gemstone clutched over his chest.

She won’t let Harry into the ritual space while she works, so he remains on the side of the bed in Louis’s line of sight as she waves her hands over the length of his figure, leaving a greyish powder in her wake as she chants the words to her spell in a language he can’t decipher. He just focuses on Harry and tries not to think about what had to die to provide the bones she ground into her magic dust.

She’s right about the flames, too. The burning starts mild at first, nothing more than the sting of a tattoo. But slowly, the more she repeats her chant, the more its power grows. Louis starts squirming at first and her words get louder in correlation to the intensity of his sizzling skin, until she’s full on shouting over his agonising screams and writhing.

In his panic, he calls Harry’s name, looking for some kind of comfort, some relief, a distraction. It feels like his skin is being eaten alive.

“I’m here.” Harry’s voice comes steady and soothing, “This is a good sign, remember? It’s working.”

He’s right and it’s exactly what Louis needs to hear to be able to brace himself through the decrescendo. Still, Cecile chants her way through it.

When the arch of his back rests against the bed again, his eyelids begin to grow heavy; another good sign that she knows what she’s doing.

And that’s when it finally hits him that these will be his last moments of consciousness on earth.

And if his soul ends up in Heaven with the rest of his family, then it’ll be the last time he ever sees Harry too.

Despite everything, it’s such a bittersweet notion. He’s finally getting what he’s dreamed of since grief became his default state, and yet there’s something so sad about it. He never felt like he had much to lose, but in the intensity of the moment it feels like he’s losing everything.

“Harry,” He calls out, squinting as Ms. Cecile places her hand on the stone clutched at his chest as she ignores their words in favor of the the finality of her ritual.

“Yes?” Harry can’t come closer, but the sound of his voice feels like he’s reaching across the room for him.

“I just…” Louis’s head feels like it’s floating, he has to scramble to find the words that seem to run away from his lips in his ditzy haze.

“Will you tell Bee I love her? And I’m sorry.” He purposely pieces together a sentence that feels easier than the one other thing searching for a way out of his mind.

“Absolutely.” Harry says, and Louis wants to keep him talking because some part of him feels panicked at the thought of it being the last time for all of his endless eternity.

“I’m sorry to you, too.” He says, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re my best mate. In the whole world. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, Louis. It’s okay.” Harry’s at his side now, disregarding the rules in favor of pushing Louis’s hair back and staring down at him with eyes like the comfort of home. How could he really be the Devil when right now he feels so much like an angel? Maybe that’s what he’s been all along, Louis’s personal guardian angel.

And maybe that’s just Louis’s fading consciousness still trying to make sense of it all.

“No, it isn’t.” Louis’s eyes are fluttering shut now, it takes more strength than he has in him to force them open in attempt to carry the image of Harry’s face with him into the darkness behind his lids. “I was terrible to you.”

“It’s really alright. I forgive you.” Harry coos, stroking Louis’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “I never blamed you to begin with.”

“I’m really gonna miss you.” Louis sighs, reaching a fumbling hand out to him. Harry finds it quickly and squeezes his own around it. Louis’s skin feels hot where he touches, but not in a scary way. It’s warm and welcoming, just like Harry himself has always been. Even when Louis refused to acknowledge it.

He feels himself teetering on the edge of something final. As if there’s a cliff in his mind that he’s one step from walking off of. It might be what death feels like, but after fighting through the panic, the only thing left for Louis to muster is peace. He knows he’s on his way home.

“Love you.” The words are whispered from somewhere in the wind, but Louis can still feel the soft press of lips against his forehead. “See you in the next life.”

Harry lets out a sigh that feels like a dream, so Louis embraces the slumber.

*

He gasps himself into consciousness moments later to find himself surrounded by the flames from his worst memories, only they’re real and they’re everywhere. He doesn’t stop gasping. He’s not doing it voluntarily, but it’s like his lungs can’t stop. His ears are flooded with a chorus of his sisters’ screams, the twins wailing in agony, his mum and Dan shrieking for relief.

His feet carry him down a corridor that doesn’t seem to end. Everything is so unbearably hot and the walls crumble around him but none of the debris hit hard enough to knock him out, only knock him down, and lifting his own weight up again feels like being stuck in a pond of melted molasses.

The further he travels, the worse the screams get. Like they’re not only being burned alive, but ripped limb from limb all at once.

Bebe’s voice joins the chorus at one point, and Louis only recognizes it because he hears his own name being shouted through it. Niall starts calling for him too, and Louis tries to follow but he can’t even see where he’s going through the endless smoke and flames. It feels like he’s coughing up his own organs, and he briefly wonders why his skin isn’t bubbling, why he hasn’t completely passed out yet. Why this nightmare doesn’t seem to have an end. Usually he wakes up before things become this disastrous. Why isn’t he waking up?

Then the worst of them all pierces his chest and he feels like he might collapse.

It’s Harry, shouting in blood curdling agony, calling out for Louis to save him. Asking _why aren’t you here for me? What have I done to deserve this? Louis, I need you, please!_ As if picking the guilt from all those wasted years right out of Louis’s head. 

He’s never known Harry as one to express physical pain before, so he becomes frantic, not having the slightest clue how he’s meant to respond to that, yet instantly willing to do whatever it takes to make it stop.

Harry is the first to start in with the more detailed pleas, but the others quickly follow suit. All of their voices begin to beg together in an array of _why me?_ s that blare in his ears as if they’re being shouted right next to him.

But there’s no one there to reach out for. Nobody he can save. He can’t even touch or see any of them.

It goes on so long that time begins to feel meaningless. He physically can’t stop his legs from running through the tortuous symphony, but they eventually begin to feel so weak they might break underneath him. And still, they just keep trudging along.

He’s beyond the point of tears to having emptied his body of all liquid; the cracked burn of dehydration just as bad as the actual flames licking his skin.

This single hallway seems to go on forever. Days, weeks, month after month. It’s just an outlasting loop of flames and screeching and exhaustion and fear with no end in sight. There’s no doors, or holes in the crumbling foundation big enough for him to crawl through. It’s just burning walls, murderous debris, and echoing screams he can’t run fast or far enough to escape.

Eventually he starts screaming too, in the hopes of drowning them out or at least releasing his frustration somehow. Thinking maybe he’ll get lucky enough to tear a hole in his oesophagus and choke to death on his own blood. Anything to be free from this actual hellhole.

He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps running, keeps screaming, screaming, aching his throat with the strain of his voice, trying to drown out the chorus of his loved ones torture, and then when he finally opens his eyes again, it’s all gone.

He finds himself standing in a room that’s just various shades of brown and beige and as he scans his new surroundings, it takes him a second to realize the external screaming has stopped. It takes him another second to actively cease his own vocals, and another to finally collapse into a sobbing heap of trauma on the floor. He puts his face in his hands and just lets it all out. The screaming may have stopped but it still rings between his ears louder than ever before.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice calls to him, this time soft and gentle like it wasn’t just gasping for reprieve only moments ago.

He startles, looking up from his hands, and sure enough, Harry is sitting on a large executive desk in front of him, brows furled together in concern.

“I—what happened?” Louis asks, eyes darting around the room. He can’t seem to fully comprehend that his nightmare is over. His brain finishes his thoughts, though not out loud. _Where are we? What was that? Did it work?_

Harry seems to anticipate every question.

“Don’t panic. You’re in Hell. The ritual worked, I think. You’re still alive for now, but in a coma. Just like Cecile said.”

“I’m _where_?” Louis frets.

“Hell.” Harry repeats. “I’m so sorry you ever had to see this place. I hope you didn’t suffer long. I only realised you were here when you started screaming, and I came as fast as I could.”

“It felt like a lifetime.” Louis blinks. “A literal lifetime. I thought it would never end.”

“Of course it did.” Harry rolls his eyes, seemingly at himself as he offers Louis a heavy sigh. “That’s how it works. You’ve only been out for about an hour on Earth.”

“Wh—so this is all real?” He checks.

“Yes.” Harry says carefully, watching him close.

It can’t really be real, though. The only way to get to Hell is to die, and Louis doesn’t feel dead yet.

“Why did the fire stop, then? If I’m still here. What exactly is going on?” He tenses, half expecting Harry to split his human form and start cackling like this is all some kind of joke. Part of the torturous delusion.

“This place is different for everybody, so the burning house was your personal torture room.” Harry explains, “But I got you out and brought you to my office instead.”

Everything here is old and brown and completely safe and normal looking. There’s a giant desk with two standing lamps on either side, a pair of muted green armchairs in front of it, and a towering bookshelf on the far wall. The wallpaper is some kind of faint beige and white dotted pattern and there’s a window overlooking God only knows what, but Louis isn’t about to stand up and find out.

It’s nowhere even near the realm of what he pictured. Still, the distinct air of dread lingers in the pit of his stomach, like something isn’t quite right even though Harry determined he’d be safe here.

“So what you’re saying is that I died.” Louis speaks slowly for his own comprehension, “And went to Hell.”

“No. Your heart is still beating. I saw it.” Harry says. “And you don’t belong here even if you were dead, so I’m afraid I don’t know what’s happening either.”

Could this be the most vivid dream he's ever had? If the coma is real, does that mean his brain conjured up his worst nightmare and added Harry to the mix because, well, he’s the stuff of nightmares? And the bigger question eating up his insides now is if this is real, if Harry really did pull him out of the fiery pits of fate, if this is really what waits for him in the afterlife, does he even want to die or be mortal anymore?

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, staring at him with those dangerous doe eyes of his. “Or rather, how are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” He deliberately breathes in and out, feeling every motion of his lungs as if to ground himself somehow, “I’m… processing.”

He doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Is Harry even really here or is his head just coming up with its own way to process every horrible thing he’s ever experienced in life? Is this all some Hell trick to make him feel like everything is okay and the second he chooses to buy it, it’ll be ripped out from underneath him and he’ll be thrown back into the medley of flames and agony?

“Do you have a bed?” He asks as he looks around the room for some kind of exit to find that there’s not even a door anywhere. “I think I’d just like to sleep this off if I can.”

“Of course.” Harry nods, holding his gaze with intent. “Don’t freak out.”

“Oh God, what now?” He groans.

“Quite the opposite.” Harry half smirks as he looks to the ceiling and when his eyes meet Louis’s again, the room has completely transformed into something new.

It’s Louis’s bedroom in Berlin, perfectly replicated as if Harry’s been there himself. Or more likely, as if Louis’s own brain supplied the most comforting thing it could find.

“Thank you.” Louis doesn’t freak out. He just wants to be left alone, if that’s even possible in his own delusion.

“Do you… want me to stay?” Harry offers.

“Not this time.” Louis sighs, “Just want sleep.”

“Alright. Please let me know if you need anything else.” Harry says, “You can just shout; I’ll hear you.”

And then he vanishes before Louis’s eyes.

He doesn’t manage to get a wink of sleep for the whole day, or night, or whatever. The dark outside his window says it’s night, but Louis isn’t sure that even time can be trusted here. He just lays under the covers, trying not to think too much and yet failing to keep his mind from racing in a thousand different directions.

He contemplates looking out the window to see what this place actually holds behind the safety of the walls Harry had conjured for him, but the fear shivers through his veins at the ideas of what he might see, so he doesn’t even dare to leave his bed.

At some point, he overhears a piece of the conversation coming from wherever Harry disappeared to. It happens as an overhead broadcast from nowhere, as if there’s an intercom with perfect clarity installed in his little piece of home.

“You’re the one who oversees that sector?” Harry’s voice rumbles like an active volcano.

“Yessir, and I’m so sorry about the escape. I assure you it won’t happen again.” Some other voice answers. A demonic underling, perhaps?

“I’m the one who extracted him, you absolute imbecile!” Harry explodes, “You should’ve alerted me as soon as he arrived!”

Louis briefly wonders why they’d even be speaking English here and considers that tiny detail as the final proof that this can’t be really happening. It has to be his mind’s extremely imaginative way of experiencing the coma.

“Excuse me sir, not that you’d know what it’s like, but there’s a lot going on down here!” The voice snaps back, “I wasn’t aware of the situation until you put up a stink about it.” 

“The one single soul that matters to me, and you weren’t aware of the situation?” Harry’s voice grows deeper somehow, the devilish inflection leaking into it, a slight hiss in the undertone of his words.

Louis has only heard him so upset once before, and that was because of him, too.

“Sir, I—

“Do you have any idea what he’s been through in this life? You’re lucky I don’t obliterate you where you stand!” Harry’s still ranting, sounds of footsteps like he’s pacing the floor. Louis vaguely remembers him saying he enjoys the intimidation part of his job. “I didn’t waste bloody years trying to get him back for some random, incompetent demon to go and scare him off again!”

“If I may be so bold,” The demon hisses back, “Who gives a shit about one measly human soul anyway?”

“You may _not_ be so bold!” Harry yells this time, cracks his hand against something hard enough for the sound of wood to splinter towards him.

This must be the scary side of himself that he’s always tried to keep hidden.

Louis might find himself getting just a bit hot by his hidden levels of protectiveness, but that’s a whole fucking coma thought he’s just going to ignore.

“I give a shit.” Harry growls, “And if you value your own existence, it’s in your best interest to start giving a shit as well, because I’ll have your fucking head on a skewer if I ever catch him here again.”

“Oh please, sir, I’m begging you to put me out of my misery.” The other voice sasses.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.” Harry snaps.

“Yes, master.” The other voice’s tone remains full of mockery. Louis kind of wants to give this defiant little bloke a good crack in the jaw too.

“Watch yourself, demon.” The dismissal in Harry’s tone is as clear as the threat beneath it.

And then the intercom shuts off, so Louis never find out how it ends. He supposes he could call out to ask Harry himself, but he seems a bit occupied at the moment, and Louis is quite certain he wasn’t meant to hear any of that anyway.

*

The next time he wakes, he’s back in the guest room at his childhood home in Doncaster, but something about it feels different. It’s light outside and all around, just the whole aura of the place feels like fairy floss; fluffy and sugary and safe.

“Boo Bear, is that you?” His mum’s voice would normally cripple him to the floor, but here it’s just warm honey welcoming him home.

“Mum, is that _you_? I’m here!” He calls out before he can even stop to consider what’s going on. If Hell was his first coma dream, he’ll gladly trade it in for this one.

“Oh, my Louis!” She opens the door with arms wide open, scooping him into a big cocoon of love. The tears he wants to cry here are joy, the screams he wants to release would have nowhere to float off to because this must be Heaven, the peak of existence. “It’s been ages! How fucking lovely to see you again!”

Is this one even a dream or just his final stop? He hopes it doesn’t have an end.

“Mum, oh my God. Mum.” Louis hugs her so tight he feels like his arms might break and yet she doesn’t squirm a bit. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“But I do, Boo. I’m with you all the time.” She coos as she strokes his hair. “I see you being strong for us and I’m so proud of you for it.”

“I’m not strong. I don’t feel strong at all.” He admits through his suddenly cracking voice. “I feel like dying every day.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You love your new home. And what about Bebe?” She seems to know things that prove she’s been with him all this time, and isn’t that the biggest fucking relief to hear? He’s always entertained the idea that she’s with him for his own comfort, but the distance between them is so unfathomable that he sometimes wonders.

“I’d trade it all for you.” He says anyway, not even feeling guilty because he knows Bebe would understand.

“You don’t have to, though.” She smiles, “You’re doing so great. You make me so proud.”

“I love you so much. I miss you guys so much.” He just whines, sniffling into her sweater. For all intents and purposes, in these precious moments he’s nothing but her little boy again.

“I know, love, we know. We all miss you too.” She strokes and comforts, “But we don’t have much longer, and I have to say something that you’re not going to like.”

“Please don’t say it, then.” Louis doesn’t have the slightest idea what it could be, he’s just so sick of the heartache and bad news that he doesn’t want to taint this moment they have together. Even if it is all just a crazy coma dream, but especially if it’s not going to last.

What does that mean for his soul, though? Is there somewhere besides Heaven or Hell for him to go?

“It’s time to stop chasing us now.” She says it anyway.

“What do you mean?” His gut sinks.

“You haven’t let us go, Lou, but you need to. We’re not your place anymore.” She tells him quietly.

“Mum, what the fuck are you talking about?” He pulls slightly away to look her in the eyes, wondering what kind of sick joke this is going to turn out to be. Another form of torture in his Hell room, maybe?

“Shh, shh.” She takes his hand now and leads him to the bed, sitting herself down and pulling him to his bum next to her. “I know it hurts, but you need to hear it.”

“What—

“You need to accept your immortal life for the gift that it is.” She says, “You don’t belong in the afterlife, honey. You never did. And that’s okay.”

“Why are you saying this? Don’t you want me here with you guys?” He whines, fucking whines like the little baby he’s become in the moment.

“Of course we’d love nothing more.” She kisses him quickly on the forehead. “I am so overjoyed to see you again. I know they would be too.”

“Then I can stay.” He says, voice cracking again. He hasn’t even seen his sisters or Ernie or Dan or Nan yet. His entire bloodline is here and he hasn’t seen any of them yet. He has to stay.

She smiles, soft and adoring as she brushes a lock of hair behind his ears. “I’m tired of watching you fight this, love. We all know how stubborn you are.”

“What would I even do for all of eternity without you guys?” His voice cracks, and he hates the sound of it.

Her smile grows even warmer, somehow. Why is she smiling while saying things that are actively breaking his heart? This is far, far worse than the burning house in Hell.

“You’ll figure it out.” She says simply.

“But I don’t want to!” He argues.

She doesn’t waver in the face of his tantrum.

“Frankly, honey, it doesn’t matter what you want.” Her words might be a bit harsh but they come full of empathy and concern, the way his mum has always been. He knows he can trust her to be real with him, no matter how it might hurt. “You can’t stop fate, Lou Bear, no matter how hard you try. You’ll only exhaust yourself. Aren’t you exhausted?”

She’s right about that. Since the moment he decided he wasn’t going to give up on someday being able to die, he’s been tired. All the failed suicides, the binge drinking, the drugs, sex, fighting. All things he thought she’d be disappointed with him for, and yet here she sits without judgement, giving him the motherly advice he’s been craving all along.

He just wishes it was something he wanted to hear.

“Mhm.” She nods as if she can read his mind, kisses his forehead for good luck.

“So why not try something different?” She goes on, “I can promise that life has so much waiting for you if you’ll just let it happen.”

“Like what?” He asks, “I need you to give me a reason, a real reason. Because I can’t think of anything worth giving you and the little ones up for.”

“I can’t ruin the surprise.” She smiles like she’s hiding a coveted secret, “But Harry might have some answers for you.”

“Harry? Harry Styles?” Louis blinks, “Harry _Satan, Lucifer, the Devil himself_ Styles?”

She nods. “Trust me, pumpkin.”

“Well now I know I’m dreaming, because if you’ve been with me all this time, then you’d know exactly what he is.” Louis says, “And why you all ended up here without me in the first place.”

“This isn’t Harry’s fault.” She says, “It was always meant to happen this way. He didn’t have any more control over it than you did.”

“So then what answers could he possibly have for me?” Louis is almost shrieking now.

“Ask him.” She urges, “He’s the only other being you know that will still be there when the world ends… and he’s been lonely for a long time, too.”

He thinks of all he’s learned about Harry lately. About the burden of his unwanted responsibilities, the endless search for meaning in his life, all the friends and lovers prematurely taken from him over the years. 

How relieved Harry must have felt to finally have someone who can’t die, and what it must have been like for him when Louis turned to rage. Or how much mental strength it must have taken for him to help Louis end it all, simply because he knew that’s what Louis wanted. The level of selflessness and the sheer amount of love he must hold to willingly cause himself so much pain in the name of fulfilling a friend’s wishes.

 _Love you,_ He’d whispered it before Louis drifted off, and now Louis begins to wonder if there was more to it than just a friendly farewell.

*

“Cece! He’s stirring!”

The faint sound of footsteps against hardwood, the flap of a curtain opening, followed by more steps moving closer.

“Calm now, demon. It’s about time.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It is all the same to me.”

“It’s not. You know what you’re doing.”

Should he be able to hear any of this? If the ritual was a success, shouldn’t his soul not be anywhere near his body? Or has the extraction part yet to happen? He wonders if that’ll hurt, too.

“His heart still beats. This is not good.”

“It didn’t work?”

“He shouldn’t be waking.”

Louis squeezes his eyes tight to brace for the light when he opens them again.

Everything is blurry for a few seconds, but then he’s able to focus on the creepy bone diorama spinning slowly behind Harry’s face as he leans over him.

“Louis!” Harry sounds completely relieved.

“I’m back on Earth, aren’t I?” Louis attempts to sit up in bed, but his limbs feel heavy after days of sitting idle.

Ms. Cecile gently cautions him back down, and Harry props a pillow behind his neck and head for support.

“You are.” She confirms, “Where else have you been?”

She seems to be asking about his magical coma, so maybe what he experienced wasn’t abnormal.

“I saw my mum.” He can’t help but smile in remembrance of her face, so clear and bright in front of him. “I guess it was Heaven?”

Cecile nods. “That’s it?”

“And I saw you. In Hell.” He looks right at Harry, searching his eyes for some kind of sign that it was real. Something that might give a semblance of weight to his mother’s advice about leaning on Harry in his immortality. His gaze hardens but he doesn’t address it.

“But you are still here.” Cecile says, “Your soul went looking for a place to rest, and it chose to come back.”

“What?” He looks over at her now, the left side of his face squished against the pillow. “Why? How?”

She shrugs.

“This is why I warned you to be absolutely sure.” She explains, “I can help guide a soul to peaceful release, but I cannot force out one that still clings to its vessel.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” Louis is annoyed to say the least; she’s basically telling him this whole trip was a waste of time. He ate _mud_ and let her perform her stupid little chant on him, put his faith in some fucking bullshit voodoo magic for nothing. He’s fuming.

“If you truly were sure about departing, would it have made a difference?” She raises her voice now.

“I should have known not to trust this bullshit.” Louis scoffs anyway as he flips the blanket off him and sits up against her wishes. He stumbles a bit when he slides off the bed and into his first steps, but Harry is there to steady him by the arm in less than an instant.

“Lou.” He clenches his teeth in warning.

“What? What’s she going to do about it?” Louis huffs, “Clearly doesn’t even know how to use her magic, so what’s there to fear?”

“Cece, I am so sorry.” Harry addresses her instead, talking about Louis as if he’s not there, “He’s been through a lot. His hopes were high.”

She crosses her arms and tightens her lips into a line. “You may leave now. Both of you.”

“Of course.” Harry nods, hand finding Louis’s back again to lead him towards the door. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“Do not bring this one back to me!” She shouts after the two of them. “He is no longer welcome here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	8. Chapter 8

Neither of them have anything to say at first, so the boat ride home is largely silent save for the whirring of the fans and the wind whipping against their ears. It’s sunset this time, so the watery swamp scene is washed in a perfectly soft, glowing orange that clenches Louis’s heart in a way he can’t place. It feels like his whole, endless life has just lost all meaning. If it’s not about family, then what’s it all for?

“I’m really sorry, Lou.” Harry eventually breaks the silence between them. “I feel like shit. I know how bad you wanted this. And I promised you it would work.”

He didn’t actually promise, but he did try his hardest to convince Louis to take this leap with him.

And Louis stupidly trusted him, again. He stupidly let Harry let him down, _again_. He should’ve just stuck to the routine of his old life in Berlin and kept Harry out of it. Life had been so much easier since he cleansed it of The Devil’s influence. Things actually made sense without him around. He should’ve fucking stuck to it.

“We’ll keep looking.” Harry says, but his voice sounds muffled by an imaginary distance. “We have all the time in the world to find something that works.”

“We?” Louis scoffs, still staring off into the horizon. “I told you what would happen after this didn’t work.”

“I—What?” For some reason, Harry is caught off guard.

“I told you I don’t want to see you again. Ever.” Louis snaps. How could he even trust that Harry actually wanted it to work in the first place? What if this entire thing was meant to be a wild goose chase? Who’s to say that if Louis kept searching for the solution with him, that search wouldn’t go on for all of eternity?

“You’re serious right now?” Harry just blinks dumbly back at him.

“Yes I’m serious, you complete dickhead!” Louis actually feels the heat rising into his voice, “You think I just say these things for fun?”

“I just thought… you know.” Harry has visibly deflated, and there’s something about the sight of his scrunched brows and pouty lips that weighs Louis’s heart down just a tiny bit, but now he’s fighting twice as hard against it. “You said we were friends again. You said you were sorry.”

“It was that damn spell talking.” Louis doesn’t even have to physically push him away to get the message across clearly, and he’s perfectly aware of what he’s doing when he adds, “Before I realised you’re still completely full of shit.”

Harry recoils for a brief second and then Louis can see the fury bubbling within him as he works through it in his head.

“Fuck you, Lou.” He gets into his Louis’s face, closing the distance of the empty seat between them. “You’re the one who’s full of shit. You’re so goddamn inconsistent it’s driving me mental!”

Good. Maybe it’ll push him to his breaking point. Maybe he’ll finally be motivated to leave Louis the fuck alone.

“Me?” He spits back, “You brought me all the way across the ocean for some cruel prank!”

“How fucking dare you.” Harry’s nostrils flare, “You know I wouldn’t have messed with a witch for some silly prank.”

“I don’t know anything anymore! Bloody hell!” Louis shouts, “I don’t even know who you are anymore! Or what to think of you, or this entire goddamned planet, or any of this supernatural bullshit I never asked for!”

“You really think I would go _this_ out of my way for just anyone?” Harry challenges.

“I don’t see why not! Seems like you’ve got nothing better to do with your never ending life than mess with fucking humans for your own entertainment.” Louis stands his ground, staring right into Harry’s stupid green eyes with the frigidity of his own.

Harry’s jaw is clenched, skin pulled tight around a vein in his neck that’s never been prominent before. Louis isn’t really sure what the goal is here, but this whole situation is far beyond his capabilities, and his words are the one thing he can control. And he’s fucking furious, and Harry happens to be sitting right in the line of fire.

“I cannot believe we’re back to this again.” His voice comes out strained. “You are the most stubborn, ignorant bastard I’ve met in literal millennia.”

“If we’re insulting character now, you’re weak, Harry.” The words crash out of him like knives against the linoleum of a polished kitchen floor, “You’re supposed to be some all powerful being who rules the absolute foulest place in existence and all you do is run around throwing yourself the biggest pity party of all time, like it’s some kind of terrible plight against you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Harry’s voice lowers this time as he points a sharp finger against the beat of Louis’s chest. He’s so close that Louis can feel his breath on his face and that ignites the gasoline in his veins times ten. “No idea the amount of shit I’ve been through for you. A fundamental lack of fucking brain cells to even comprehend what I’ve put up with to be here right now.”

“Why bother? What is the point? Why can’t you just go back to Hell where you belong and leave me the Hell alone?” If it’s true that the Devil can feel even a fraction of what humans can, then Harry deserves to suffocate under the weight of the same desperation that Louis has carried across the ocean with him.

“You are worse than actual demons!” Harry’s finally letting whatever he’s been holding back all this time come spilling out, “Earth would be a walk in the park if I never fucking met you!”

The next few minutes happen in a rushed blur. Harry pushes him. Like, actually shoves him off the side of the boat into the splash of the water below. 

Louis’s first thought is that the smell is absolutely foul. It wasn’t bad from above, but submerged underneath it’s exactly like he’d expect old, wet, moss to smell. Worse than eating mud, even.

His second and most encompassing thoughts are _did that actually just happen? Did he really just push me like a child? Into a swamp full of snakes and alligators and who knows what else?_

When he floats back up to the surface to catch his breath, he gulps in a big lungful, and spots the boat already far off into the distance. They didn’t even stop, those fuckers.

He kicks his feet to tread above the surface as he scans the area. Even the nearest bank is a pretty far swim away, but it’s not like he can spot any better options.

As he heads towards it, he’s met with a pair of beady eyes off to his left. They look pretty big on their own, so he doesn’t even want to imagine how big the actual animal attached to it is. And it’s not like he can even properly die if one of them decided to treat him like a snack, but it would certainly hurt like a bitch to be ripped apart by one. And the bodily recovery process has never been a pleasant experience either, so he proceeds with the utmost caution.

He swims his way to the river bank and hoists himself out, shaking his arms and legs, then squeezing out and ruffling his hair to rid some of the water from it. He wrings out his clothes best he can, but of course the fabric is still drenched, and that makes him shiver despite the sticky warmth of the Louisiana swamp air.

He is going to make it his new life’s mission to murder Harry for this. He’ll go down in history as the man to bring in the new world order, freed of The Devil’s wrath. The Bible thumpers will worship him for generations afterward.

He just starts heading in the general direction of where the boat was going. Water squelches in his shoes with every step, and he’s not immune to the scrape of the branches against his skin as he makes his way down the river. He’s afraid to count the number of hisses that come from nearby, afraid to linger on the difference between gator and snake warning sounds.

He has no concept of how long it takes before the sound of another boat roars towards him again, but he halts his riverside trek to jump up and down, wave his arms, and yell for the driver’s attention.

It’s Liam. The same one from before, who left him stranded out here in the first place.

“He told me to keep going. I wasn’t gonna—I mean. You know.” He apologizes, reaching a hand out to help Louis into the boat.

“Bastard.” Louis mumbles as he takes the offering, not even hesitating to forgive, saving all his rage for the monster that led him to this godforsaken place to begin with. “Fucking psychopath.”

“Well, it ain’t news to nobody.” Liam shrugs as he hands him a towel to soak up some of the water with. “What in God’s name were you thinking, messing with a fella like that?”

“Guess I just figured he wouldn’t actually hurt me.” Louis admits as he rubs himself down. 

“Outside of pushing you into gator-infested waters,” Liam snorts, “Or damming your soul for all eternity, right?”

Both things Louis really had no reason to fear before. Still, he nods in acknowledgment of Liam’s mortality.

Liam points to a change of clothes he brought, folded on the seat next to him.

“I’ll turn away, just let me know when you’re all set to head back.”

“Thank you.” Louis smiles. “Can I ask how you know what he is?”

“My ma was big into the witchy stuff. We were raised not to mess with the balance of the earth an’ allat.” Liam says, “I remember he was passin’ through the city once when I was a little sprout. She’s been warning me bout him lurking round long as I can remember.”

“And the clerk at the desk?” Louis asked, “He believed all that?”

“S’ my brother.” He chuckles, “Not the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he’s still learning the business like the rest of us.”

Louis nods, letting Liam know he’s ready to head out.

There’s not much else to say, what with Louis’s mind miles away at the hotel in the city, but Liam tries to make conversation about Louis’s life back home and how he ended up in ‘cahoots’ with the ambassador of evil himself. Save for the voodoo lady’s superior attitude, Louis hasn’t met a person here who isn’t friendly way beyond what he’s used to back home. He kind of likes their chipper attitudes and tendency to ramble on about things he only understands about half the time, although a part of him doesn’t think he’d acclimate to it long term.

When the boat docks, Liam pauses his story about moving out to the bayou once he’d grown tired of the city to ask, “You ain’t gonna go chasin’ after him again are ya?”

Louis smiles, touched by his concern for an almost perfect stranger, “I’m certainly not going to let him get off that easily.”

“Well, s’not like you’re fixin’ to listen to my warning, so blessings be with you.” Liam tips his hat.

Louis has been warned. Since day one, Harry even warned him about himself. And still he walked right into the belly of the beast, and still something keeps calling him right back to it.

“There’s just…” _something about him_ sounds so fucking pathetic he almost strangles himself on the words. “Obviously something deeply wrong with me.”

“Yeah, you’re off yer fuckin’ rocker.” Liam snorts.

  
*

  
As soon as Louis walks in to find Harry going at top speed on the treadmill, he lunges towards him to tackle him to the ground.

Considering The Devil’s inhuman strength, it’s over pretty quickly. Harry has him pinned down by the arms, straddling his waist to keep his squirming to a minimum. 

Louis spits in his face. “You could’ve killed me, you bastard!”

Harry doesn’t even flinch, just lets it drip off his face along with the sweat.

“Good riddance! That’s what you wanted all along!” 

“To be devoured by gators in some filthy swamp an ocean away from home? Not exactly!” 

“Pretty badass way to go out, in my opinion.” Harry counters.

“Whatever happened to you not being a murderer?” Louis hisses.

“Oh, please. You’d just come back anyway.” He has the audacity to roll his eyes as if this whole thing is so far beneath him that he can’t muster the energy for it.

He shifts his weight off as he goes on to say, “You always fucking come back, since the beginning of time.”

“Since how long?” Louis sits up to look him in the eyes, but he’s distracted as he stands up and starts pacing back and forth in a frenzy.

“You’re always fucking stubborn, but not usually such a goddamn cynic, so I think that’s really just the cherry on top of this life.” It’s like Harry’s talking to himself now, but Louis is still stuck steps behind on what he’s said before. “You hardly believe I even really exist after all this time, let alone that I could possibly be capable of actual human emotion. So why on Earth would you be able to digest that you’ve existed before, too?”

“Harry, what the fuck?” Louis asks, but he’s too busy ranting to acknowledge it. 

“In the end it’s really always the same though, if I’m being honest with myself.” He sighs, “We meet, we bond, something tears us apart, you die. It’s always the fucking same. At this point, I think I am ready to figure out how to kill you myself, just to finally get some relief.”

“Harry, what the fuck!” Louis shouts to bring his attention back to the present moment. “What the fuck are you going on about?”

“Christ, Lou, Keep up! It’s more of that supernatural bullshit you hate so much!” He shouts back, “Your soul has always been fucking immortal, it’s only in this life that your body finally managed to catch up. Every part except your brain, anyway.”

A thousand different instances of Harry’s hardened gaze, his pursed lips struggling to keep his secrets from escaping flash through Louis’s brain as it finally clicks. The thing he never wanted to say.

 _See you in the next life,_ Harry’s words as he drifted off into the voodoo coma echo between his ears. He briefly thought it seemed weird at the time, but the next time he woke up was in Hell, so that hardly left a moment for him to harp on it long.

Now he remembers his mum encouraging him to give up on joining his family in the afterlife. Telling him to ask Harry for the answers to his immortal dilemma. Could this be what she was referring to? 

While Louis’s brain cards through a thousand tiny moments that he should’ve caught on to something being up; maybe not guessed right off the bat what was going on but at least noticed something suspicious, he manages to focus on the noise coming from Harry’s room.

He shakes his head into focus and stumbles his way towards the open door to find Harry shoving things into his suitcase on top of a mess of clothing.

“Wait, are you leaving?” Louis blinks, eyes following Harry’s form was he stomps from one end of the room to the other. “You can’t. You can’t just leave.”

Harry cackles. Like actually laughs, harsh and grating and void of any actual humor.

“Bullshit, I can’t leave!” He says, “You can run and push me away all you want, but the minute I actually decide to go, suddenly it’s a problem?”

“I mean, yeah.” Louis’s head is still stuck on _your soul has always been immortal_ , but Harry’s thirty steps ahead. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and then not even explain anything!”

“There’s nothing to explain, Louis. It doesn’t even matter.” Harry says, “You want me gone, I’m gone. You’ve no idea how exhausting it is to be so stuck on somebody who doesn’t want you around.”

“I obviously want you around, H.” He refutes, “But it hasn’t been that simple between us in a long time.”

“Things haven’t been simple _for you_.” Harry acknowledges.

“Exactly! I’m so fucking out of my element here that I don’t know what to feel about any of this. My world has been completely turned upside down and still something new gets thrown at me every day!” He shouts.

“I know it’s a lot for you, especially when you’re still grieving, Lou. I know that.” Harry says, “You’ve lost more than I can even begin to understand, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have losses too.”

Louis shuts his mouth. Harry may not be able to understand what he’s lost, but he brings up a good point. Louis can’t understand what it’s like to live for thousands of years, lose people all the time, and still choose to keep going, keep pushing through all the shit that the world has to throw at you despite always losing. To be so afraid of all your other options to the point where a life of pain and loss on Earth still seems like the better, easier, alternative.

“I’ve given you all the time and space that you asked for and it never seems to be enough.” Harry goes on, “After everything I’ve done for you, you still have the nerve to act like you never want to see me again for the rest of your eternal life! Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I know what I said.” Louis sighs, softening now as he begins to consider Harry’s point of view. “I’m saying something different now. I’m asking you to tell me what’s really going on here.”

Harry scoffs. 

“So you can abuse me some more when it turns out to be something you don’t actually want to hear?”

He can admit that he hasn’t been very nice to Harry, but _abuse_ might be taking it a little far. Maybe. _Inconsistent_ was a pretty fair description.

“So I can know what the fuck my life actually is.” Louis says. “So I can figure shit out before I royally fuck up again.”

“As if you not royally fucking up could ever be an option.” Harry quips.

Louis grits his teeth, hanging tight to the fact that he needs to pick Harry’s brain right now, so firing off snotty comebacks to further piss him off is probably not the smartest thing to do.

“I’m not the only one who’s made shit decisions here, Harry.” He calmly reminds him instead.

“Yes, you are.” Harry quickly counters. “I may not be some sweet little angel, but I’ve always been good to you, Lou. I’m patient. I’m kind. I go out of my way to make sure you’re happy and comfortable. You’re my one fucking weakness, and it always screws me over in the end.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Louis argues. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re the whole reason we’re here in the first place.”

“You’re damn right about that. I’m the reason you’re _alive_.” Harry hisses. “Most people would be grateful to the person who saved their life, however unintentionally. And you’ve given me nothing but shit for it since the very first moment you revived.”

“I wasn’t supposed to live, Harry! I should’ve died with them!” Louis rages.

“Haven’t you considered how ridiculous it is to even think that?” Harry shouts back. “For all your knowledge of the Higher Powers and how their will works, I expected you to have figured it out by now!”

“What on Earth should I have figured out?” Louis yells, “None of this would be easy for any normal, sane human to just figure out!”

“Everything happens how it’s meant to, Lou!” Harry shouts, “You think I want to be stuck ruling Hell for all of eternity? Or to be stuck chasing different versions of you for eternity? You think I asked for any of this? You think I wouldn’t throw it all into the goddamn flames for just the illusion of control over what happens to me?”

“Chasing me?” Louis curls his upper lip in internal confusion that presents more as borderline disgust. “No one told you to do that.”

“Oh, please! You know what you’re doing to me.” Harry shakes his head, “I always try to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t think you deserve that anymore. You can’t really be that dense.”

“Harry, please, half the time I’ve honestly got no idea what you’re talking about unless you tell me directly.” He refutes.

“Come on, Lou.” Harry groans, “On some level, you already know that we’ve met before. I see that little flash of recognition in your eyes sometimes. And then I watch you talk yourself out of it, and it breaks me every fucking time.”

Louis swallows the metallic taste on his tongue, because this time he knows Harry’s right. That tiny part of him that lingers on the way Harry can pick the thoughts out of his brain before he says them. The way Harry looks at him just a little too long and a little too deep. The things that Harry seems to know about the darkest parts of Louis’s heart and how the simple brush of their skin against each other feels like an anchor to the seafloor. Maybe some part of him _has_ always known, but he’s just been too blind and out of touch to pay it any real attention.

“I mean, even after everything you’ve learned about the world, you’re still so oblivious to the things happening right in front of your eyes.” Harry continues right where his own thoughts left off, “You have to see the way I look at you. I know you can tell I’m holding back. Why is it so hard for you to just trust your intuition?”

He gulps. He always thought he’d been imagining it. He didn’t expect Harry to share every little detail about himself, but maybe some part of him never called it out because he knew it wasn’t something he was ready to hear. He sure as fuck still doesn’t feel ready to have heard it. 

It doesn’t seem to matter whether he believes in the idea of reincarnation or not, because everything else in his life seems to happen regardless of whether it’s something he believes anyway.

“I write _breakup_ songs about you.” Harry holds his gaze, “Love songs about _you_.”

Louis just blinks. This is so much. It’s all too much.

“And I know that you know they’re for you, because you asked.” He calls him out.

“But I didn’t know.” Louis says, “I had a feeling that maybe they could be, in some way, about missing a friend. But you’ve told me about people you loved before, so I assumed I was mental for even thinking that.”

“All you.” Harry practically spits the words at him, and it takes a moment to register.

“What?” He asks in a daze.

“All you. All of them. Every person I’ve ever loved was just a different version of you.” Harry’s voice is firm and sure. He doesn’t break their eye contact as it comes out, either. Just complete conviction.

“You must mean like, I remind you of them.” He tries to rationalise.

But Harry’s voice echoes in his head, from the literal depths of Hell. _The one single soul that matters to me…_

“I wish that’s what I meant.” Harry maintains his rigidity. “I wish I could feel anything for anybody but you.”

And the concept of Harry confessing feelings for him is hard enough to swallow, but the idea of him being in love with the same soul for all of his thousands of years on Earth, no matter where he’s been or how many others he’s tried with, is just too much to even contain within the confines of his measly human mind. He’s just one insignificant person on an impossibly larger scale of the world. And Harry is so… experienced. He’s been around for longer than Louis’s brain can even fully fathom, done things that Louis probably hadn’t even considered were possible. Yet, the one thing he keeps finding himself drawn back to is… Louis?

“But you steered me away.” He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, “When I asked about the music.”

“I did no such thing.” Harry retorts, “What did I say? _I write about you all the time._ Practically painted it in the sky for you.”

Louis gulps. Sweats. Averts his eyes, remembering. He did have the distinct thought that they must be for him, but he just ended up attributing it to heaps of alcohol and imagination. As always.

If Louis has lived before, and Harry’s loved him before, then that means Harry has been writing about who knows how many different versions of him. Which would explain why even though the lyrics didn’t always apply to their current situation no matter how he tried to justify his own delusions, something about them always felt too personal for comfort. Since the very first night they met. He’s been feeling it all along, without even daring to ascribe any real meaning to the things his gut has been shouting at him from day one.

While Harry’s just been singing their story into existence. Or maybe they’d already been here before, in another life. Or maybe Harry has just always known that nothing on Earth or beyond could ever keep them apart. Or maybe this is all totally fucking insane and he’d rather jump off a cliff to regenerate at a different point in time just to have an escape from it.

He can’t decide whether it’s the creepiest or most romantic thing he’s ever heard. Can’t tell if he’d rather strangle Harry or spend the rest of time itself loving him back.

Could he actually see himself loving this person? Nevermind all the supernatural stuff, could he picture a life with Harry in his human form, here on Earth? Would it look anything like their old days together? Would it be something new and totally exciting even further beyond belief, like the swooping tingle in his tummy at the mostly accidental brushes of their skin against each other?

“And you ignored it, just like you always do.” Harry goes on, bringing him back to the present moment, “Every time we meet, it’s you who keeps us apart. It’s _you_ who leaves _me_.”

Harry tilts his head down to his suitcase now, presses the top closed and tries to zip it as he lets everything he’s been holding inside come crashing out. 

“You’re the real Devil here.” He sighs, “You see exactly what you’re doing and you’re so stuck inside your own head that you can’t even be bothered to care that I hurt, too. That I’ve been grieving for you longer than you’ve even been alive.”

Harry keeps shoving things into his bags, not even actually packing anymore, just pulling things out and throwing them on the floor, zipping and unzipping, grabbing at other things and re-stuffing them back into his luggage. Obviously scatterbrained amidst his outburst.

“And now you have the opportunity to finally stay here forever, and you just can’t wait to throw it away!” He’s back to shouting again, “And I actually helped you! Like a fucking idiot! Here I am helping you try to run from me yet again, and I—I just… you don’t even care to consider what any of it means to me.”

“Tell me.” Louis interrupts, effectively diffused from his own rage in the wake of his newfound empathy.

Harry just stares at him in that way he always does.

“Make me understand, H.” Louis urges, “You know I’ll never get there on my own. I’ve always been too goddamn small minded to live in reality without you.”

Harry doesn’t crack a smile yet, but he does visibly back down, so Louis takes that as a sign to continue.

“You’re absolutely sure it’s me every time?” Louis tries to focus on the whole thing that led them to hashing it out, “Not that I don’t believe you, but I need to understand how it works, because I obviously don’t remember anything outside of the life I lead now.”

“Not on a conscious level anyway.” Harry acknowledges, “But I’m sure. The spirit is always the same. The eyes are always the same.”

“If you’re actually telling me that fucking blue eyes is how you know, I’m walking away right now.” Louis quips. There’s still certain limits to some of what he’s willing to accept.

Harry blows the air out from his nose with a slight laugh. “It’s not the color. I’ve seen them all on you. It’s the light, the fire…” He waves his hand ambiguously around the air, “It’s just you. I’d know it anywhere.”

 _I know those eyes,_ Harry’s first ever words to him in the bar all that time ago echo between his ears.

He wasn’t being cheeky. The recognition that flashed over his face when they saw each other across the bar was the spark of actual recognition.

It’s becoming less and less possible to deny that maybe some part of Louis has always known. 

The way it felt so easy between them right from the start, like their friendship was pre-programmed before they even spoke. How even after Harry dropped The Devil bomb, some part of him actively wanted to keep entertaining all his nonsense based on what? An inexplicable connection formed over one single night-long encounter? The way he appeared out of the blue after years apart and despite the absolute boiling rage it inspired, Louis was still powerless to stay away.

Maybe they weren’t actually meant to be apart all along. If it’s true that they’ve been doing this since the beginning of time, then Louis never really stood a chance and maybe he never will.

And maybe that’s okay.

It’s like hot lava melting through his veins, burning into his face along with it. He may as well be back in the nightmare house, only this time he’s not exactly sure he’s willing to die to escape it. For the first time in a long fucking time, it feels like there’s something promising waiting for him at the end of the corridor. The shining pot of gold at the end of his blackened rainbow.

So he presses on despite the visceral instinct compelling him to bolt in the other direction.

“The essence of a human soul is eternal.” Harry goes on as if Louis isn’t watching his whole world terraform into new land before his eyes, “Some people pass on, but the stronger ones, or maybe those who still have something to offer the world, they just come back. And they keep coming back until who knows when. Some of them only get a few lives, some get hundreds.”

“How many have I had?” He asks right away.

Harry keeps him mesmerised as he says, “We’re somewhere around the 300 mark now.” 

“Holy fuck.” Louis nods as more of a nervous reaction than anything. He can hardly grasp the concept of that much time, let alone it only being a small fraction of how long Harry’s actually been around. “I need a cig for this.”

Finally, Harry lets the last of his guard fall to pieces. He releases the clothes gripped in his hands and stretches an arm towards the door, a motion meant to usher Louis out towards the terrace.

“Can I have a moment to digest?” He stalls, “I’d like to wash the swamp off me, but I’m afraid you won’t be here after…”

Finally, Harry offers him a tiny tilt of the corners of his lips.

“If you want to talk, I’ll be here.” He says it with far more weight than just to cover this one little chat.

  
*

  
“So, if we could backtrack for just a second.” Louis says when they meet outside, following his shower processing session. He breathes out his first puff of nicotine as he leans his forearms on the railing and focuses down into the chattering crowds of the streets below as he asks, “I saw you while I was like, coma dreaming or whatever. In Hell. Was that for real?”

“It was.” Harry confirms, “I didn’t know if you’d remember.”

“Oh, I remember.” Louis nods. 

“I’m honestly fucking gutted that you had to go through that again.” Harry says, “I did not mean for that to happen. I’m s—

Louis holds up a hand to stop him. 

“Think I’m somewhat desensitized to it at this point.” Louis says, taking another drag. “I mean, in the moment it was definitely re-traumatizing, but it’s the least of my concerns right now. I only ask because I visited my mum, as well. In Heaven. So if you were real, then that means she must have been too.” 

“You did mention that.” Harry’s interest piques, probably because Heaven is the one thing he’ll never be able to experience in all his existence. “What was it like?”

“I don’t know if Hell has the same effect on you as it does for humans, but the whole time I was there, I had this sense of dread.” He tries to explain, “You did your best to accomodate me, and I appreciate that, but it still felt like it would all be ripped away at any moment and I’d end up in the flames again.” He flicks a spot of ash into the tray balanced on the railing, “Heaven is the complete opposite. It’s like, bright and soft. Comforting.”

“Hell is quite dreary.” Harry laughs, “It must have been amazing for you to see her again, though.”

“It was.” Louis lets himself smile into the memory. “I miss her every single fucking day of my life. And it’s not that I ever thought she wasn’t okay, but just to see her so undeniably happy was a weight off my shoulders.”

“Settles my mind a bit, too.” Harry nods, “She deserves that. They all do.”

“She said she wants me to stop trying to die, though.” He goes on, “Like, not in a motherly way, but in a real, knowing way. She said I’m not meant to be with them.”

Harry’s brows raise with intrigue, but he allows Louis to continue.

“So of course now my head is going at it, like, first she told me that, and now you’re telling me I’ve never really died before.” Louis sucks down a huge drag, “What does that even mean? How is that possible?”

“Well, I can only offer what I know.” Harry says, waiting for Louis to nod at him to continue, “Each time you die, whoever you are at the time definitely disappears forever. And I grieve, and I wonder if it was the last time I’ll ever see you. And then one day, decades later, I’ll run into a stranger and that first time our eyes connect—all the memories come flooding back, and suddenly you’re not a stranger anymore.”

He nods, trying to imagine. “Kind of like when you found me at Naturales?”

“I suppose that’s the closest you’ll ever get to understanding.” Harry acquiesces. 

“Okay,” Louis says, “So then after that moment, what usually happens next?”

“You know.” Harry says, and Louis still isn’t looking at him but he can feel Harry’s eyes focus elsewhere in his vulnerability, “Sometimes I try to stay away, but it’s useless. I find it hard to go on with my life knowing you exist somewhere…”

“Without you?” Louis starts tapping his foot against the concrete platform.

“It sounds foul to say it like that.” Harry admits, “I swear it’s not like I think I’ve got some kind of right to insert myself in your life. But you just become this nagging thought for me, like, what am I missing out on by not even trying to get to know you? What if the one time I succeed in staying away is our only real chance at happiness together?”

“Would you be able to stay away in the case that I didn’t respond with interest?” He digs. 

“You aren’t always so receptive.” Harry breathes a chuckle. “And I usually do back off. Other times, I like to see how long you’ll let me push your buttons.”

“I knew it.” Louis gives himself a victory snap, finally turning to look at Harry with a smirk that’s instantly met with a pair of dimples.

“Your instincts are smarter than you tend to acknowledge.” He approves.

“It’s still a lot to digest.” Louis sucks down another drag, ripping off the bandage of the next question before he can overthink it, finally trying the words on his tongue out loud. “You’re saying that you’ve been secretly in love with me this whole time?”

Harry lets go of a long breath, maybe one he’s been holding for a while now. It’s his turn to look off into the distance, and that says just about all he needs. 

The sheer confidence in admitting such a thing, of handing all his power right over on a sparkling silver platter sends a shiver down to Louis’s toes.

“Well why didn’t you fucking say something, you twat?” He focuses super hard on the simple motion of flicking his ash into the tray. He wouldn’t have let it come out so harshly if he didn’t know Harry could take it. But also, what the ever-loving fuck?

All the times he’d let his gaze linger on Harry’s lips for just a moment too long, all the times he caught himself sneaking peeks at Harry’s bum as he walked by, all the times he felt his heart sigh at the ease between the two of them dancing around in the kitchen like a couple of fools.

All the times they’d tasted each other’s lips, all the thoughtless drunken squeezes amidst the party crowds, all the times some unwanted stranger tried too hard to go home with one or the other. Louis would slide his hand around Harry’s waist like it was habit, Harry would lean into it and kiss the top of his head to indicate a closeness beyond the reality of their stupid, simplified friendship. If they were feeling especially bold or especially sloppy, they’d turn it into full on snogging in public view and Louis would have to shove down the rise in his chest telling him to just go for it, what would a little no strings attached sex mean between friends?

There were strings, though. There were so many strings between them that Louis sometimes found himself tangled up even without the idea of a little friendly fondling being thrown into the mix. 

But if he’d known there was even a ghost of the same ideas swirling around Harry’s head, he might’ve gone for it. Might’ve tried to look past what he dismissed as psychological issues surrounding the whole Devil persona back then.

And Harry never saw a single one of those moments as an opportunity to make a move himself, despite having all the knowledge he’s so graciously decided to share all of a sudden. 

He’s the most frustrating person or being or goddamn Devil that Louis has ever met.

“It’s better that way.” Harry explains, “When I let you come to me, it’s less pressure for you to like, live up to this big thing between us. We tend to get a little slice of time together when you think it’s all your doing. When I dump all this on you though? It tends to end badly.”

Louis grits his teeth. Whatever version of himself would be put off by a confession of literal undying love is definitely long gone.

“Well, I’m a different person now, as you’ve said.” He sucks down another long drag, blowing smoke out into the silence between them.

Harry doesn’t push his luck. 

“Can I have one of those?” He instead nods towards the dying cigarette between Louis’s fingers.

When Louis presents the case from his pocket, their hands brush and they both pause for just a moment, eyes flicking upwards to meet each other. Harry’s glistening green is a place he can always rest his head, and in being completely honest with himself he can admit there’s a part of him that’s been begging to give in for some time now. 

“So when exactly did we first meet, then?” He wonders, turning to a side lean so he can address Harry directly.

“You were an upper class from the northern Mari land in ancient Mesopotamia.” Harry says around the stick pressed between his lips as he cups a hand to light it, “A priest, believe it or not. I take full responsibility for corrupting you back then.”

“Don’t tell me I left the church for you?” The fact that Louis manages to tease makes it all feel a bit easier.

“You certainly lived a double life for me.” Harry smirks, “Holy, religious authority by day. Absolutely filthy sex demon by night.”

“Harold!” Louis reddens, completely scandalized by hearing Harry refer to him with such dirty descriptors for the first time in his current life. And also quite a bit more than a little into it. The idea of Harry thinking of him that way at all is a warm buzz in his belly.

Harry laughs, but continues to describe his oldest lover, “Abacus Namaan. 19, jet black hair, cocoa brown skin, with a smile like the sun itself.”

Nothing about that description resonates with him. He’s always heard that past lives usually connect with the person’s current life somehow, but then again it seems cuckoo to expect anything about the world to line up with what he thinks he knows about it after all he’s learned lately.

“Abacus.” He repeats, “You threw it all away for good ‘ol Abacus the church boy.”

Harry laughs again, clearly riding some kind of high from the remembrance of his first love. He’s beautiful, he really is, and regardless of Louis’s blind spots to the unseen wonders of the world, that’s one thing he’s never been able to overlook. Not a single part of him is opposed to being Harry’s filthy little sex demon in this life, either.

“I did.” Harry says it without an ounce of shame, “I thought I would die just looking at you. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on at the time, just that I had to be near you.”

“What parts of him do you see in me?” He wonders.

“Attitude. He was quite the little spitfire.” Harry grins at the pointed look Louis gives him. “Also, that look. All your physical expressions seem to translate into each life. Along with your strength, humor, analytical mind… the way you listen and remember important details. How you try so hard to understand the things you don’t understand.”

“Curiosity is the word you’re looking for.” Louis supplies, paying careful attention to all the things Harry loves about him.

“There you are.” Harry smiles.

Louis lets that linger as he tries to dredge up anything he can from the more or less official beginning of human time. It’s bizarre that the memories would be missing, but the feeling of knowing Harry for longer than he’s actually known him so prominent.

“I just find it hard to picture any of it.” He vocalizes what’s going on in his head, “Like, how have I lived hundreds of lives and all of that is just gone to me now?”

“I don’t know anymore about that than you do, love.” Harry puffs on his cig, answering after he lets the smoke go.

Louis hates that. He knows it’s not Harry’s fault, but he hates not knowing.

“All I know is that you’ve done a lot of living.” Harry tries to explain, “I know that I’ve met you as a priest, a painter, a musician, a royal, a homemaker, a businessman, a farmer… Nevermind the sheer amount of cultures you’ve spawned in. I could go on for hours. Sometimes you have a big family, sometimes it’s just you. Sometimes a socialite, other times a recluse. A few times you’ve been a woman, and once back in the Grecian empire you were openly genderfluid… I’ve loved you as a villain and a saint, but at the end of the day, all the things that make you you are still there.”

“I was a royal?” Louis perks up.

“You would latch onto that.” Harry rolls his eyes in a purely endeared way.

“Always felt like I was meant to be a boss.” He grins.

“You were only a prince, still waiting to marry before you could take the throne.” Harry retells it with a glint in his eye, “Of course, the king and queen were scandalised when you brought me home. But you were so brave. So romantic. Insisted I’d be good for the future of the kingdom, and more importantly, the future of your heart and soul.”

“Oh, that’s some classic shit.” He beams, reveling in the purity of his soul’s unabashed love. “Did it work?”

Harry chuckles, “Not a chance, but the gesture was never forgotten.”

“How did that story end?” He wonders.

“You ran away with me and died in a hunting accident months later.” Harry says, “Not a doubt in my mind it was orchestrated by the oligarchy, but ‘tragic accident’ is the official record.”

Louis takes a moment to absorb the wistfulness in his voice, and then he offers a sigh before empathizing, “I hope the bastards are burning for it.”

Harry simply looks over at him, not a word of confirmation or denial either way. 

“How often have I been a woman?” Louis switches it up.

His endless curiosity brings Harry’s amusement back into bloom. “I can only count a handful of times.”

“And when was the first time you realised it was still me in a much different body?” Louis presses.

“Qing dynasty, China, somewhere around the 1700s.” His brain must be organised like an old school filing cabinet to be able to just flip through all these memories with such ease.

“You were married, raising two little boys, and just a completely pure spirit, so we were never more than friends in that life.” He says, “You had a lot of dreams for yourself and the little ones. Lots of daily frustrations you liked to unleash on me. I don’t think you were ever actually happy being a housewife, but the expectations were vastly different then, so there was little I could do to help. You seemed to know I was bad news, and kept me at an appropriate distance.”

“Sounds like you did help, though.” Louis notices, “In the best way a friend ever really can.”

Again, he smiles in remembrance. “I’m glad the present you seems to think so.”

“The next time was quite a few decades later. You owned a B&B in colonial New Zealand.” The fact that he volunteers this on his own makes it feel more significant somehow, like whoever she was mattered enough to him that he wanted to make sure Louis knew of her, “She was the kindest you’ve ever been. Charmed the pants off of everyone in town. Lived happily alone with her four dogs until she met me.”

“And what was it about you that was just so irresistible?” Louis lets himself be okay with the flirtiness laced through it. Harry _loves_ him, after all. It’s not like he’s got anything to lose by leaning into it.

“You’d have to ask her.” Harry chuckles, “I checked in for a couple weeks and we just got on right from the beginning. She eventually made the first move.”

“Is that standard? Us clicking from the beginning?” Louis brings his mind back to how it started in this life as well. He might not have explicitly gone for it, but there’s no denying the spark was there. 

“It’s always been effortless with you.” Harry’s smile softens, then fades completely.

“You seem upset about it.” He notices.

Harry hesitates, but ultimately decides to roll with the openness between them. “Because I’m always disappointed when I can’t find that in anyone else.”

“Not because you’ve gone back to men, is it?” He tries to play it off as casual, but the hint of jealousy doesn’t seem subtle in practice.

“I much prefer you as a man, actually.” He says, “Maybe because that’s how we most often meet, but it feels like a better fit.”

“That’s pretty fucking gay of you.” He jokes.

“Surprise!” Harry runs with it, cradling his chin with his hands as he beams in exaggerated flamboyance.

Louis is so fucking enamored it seems like the most obvious thing on Earth. 

But he still has to say it out loud. He can’t leave this conversation without letting Harry know where he stands, as well.

“You know I’ve, um,” He’s completely shit when it comes to vulnerability, but for the sake of all Harry’s willingly divulged he forces himself to push through the fear. “I mean, you can’t have missed that I kind of fancy you in this life, too.”

“Spare me the pity.” Harry rolls his eyes, shying away.

“As if.” Louis drops his eyes back to the animated pavements below their top floor view, “I wouldn’t bother saying it if I didn’t mean it.”

“The sincerity is just oozing.” Harry sucks down the remainder of his cig and ashes it on top of the metal bar.

“It’s just odd to admit, since you’ve been a friend for so long, ” He explains. “And then to find out you’ve just been pretending all this time.”

Strangely enough, it’s defending himself that seems to really solidify it. Of course he’s always been interested in Harry as something more than just a best mate. He just didn’t think there was any point in entertaining it. And now that there is, his heart is racing with where to go from here.

“I wasn’t pretending. We are friends. I like when we have the chance to build that.” Harry assures him, “And then after all that mess between us, I figured you wouldn’t want to hear any of this from your immortal enemy.”

This time Louis lets out a breath of air from his nose, amused by the choice of phrasing.

“I was just angry. Still grieving.” He admits. “I never actually hated you… I think I just needed somewhere to diffuse it all.”

And after the events of the past weeks, it feels sufficiently diffused. It might have been seeing his mother at peace that really tied the bow on top of the poorly wrapped package. What reason does he have to be mad if his own family isn’t even sweating it? If his mother is obviously rooting for them, despite Harry supposedly being the embodiment of evil.

Harry’s nodding before he can even finish the sentiment. “I clearly understood that before you did.”

And Louis doesn’t really have anything more to add after that, so they just stand together while it marinates into his current consciousness.

Harry has loved him for thousands of years.

All he’s ever wanted is to not have to watch him die.

And now he doesn’t have to.

And maybe Louis doesn’t even want to anymore.

And Harry’s already confirmed that it works on all levels. In some lifetimes, anyway, the only thing tearing them apart was death itself.

And even still, even when it ended in his demise time and time again, Louis’s soul would always find a way back. Always find him again somewhere. Always let him in.

After a few beats of consideration, he finally says, “Can I try something?”

Harry raises a single brow. “That really depends what you have in mind.”

“I just want to…” His eyes flick down to study Harry’s lips for a moment, and when he looks back up, he catches Harry’s gaze following his attention.

But it’s Louis who leans in, ever so slowly, savouring each little inch of it while simultaneously panicking at the fact that Harry is standing his ground. His tongue darts out over his lips quickly in anticipation and that scares Louis back to meeting his eyes again. 

It shouldn’t be weird. It shouldn’t feel so… so…. everything. It shouldn’t feel like everything in Louis’s life has led him to this moment, this simple kiss on the same lips he’s already visited several times before.

But those kisses weren’t real. They were in the moment, all in good fun, or part of an act. It wasn’t something he necessarily thought about doing. It just kind of happened. And they were only friends then, so Louis didn’t put too much weight on it afterwards.

But now Harry loved him. Had always loved him. He carries the love of three hundred lifetimes in him and pours it all into Louis with a single kiss.

It’s a gust of wind to help push them across the bridge between friends and lovers. A bridge that Harry had long since been standing on the other side, just waiting for Louis to meet him at. And all of a sudden he was so fucking close to just bolting right across it into Harry’s arms for the rest of eternity.

Despite the howling inside him, when their lips finally press together, it’s soft. Sweet. Harry tastes like all those lifetimes he doesn’t remember living.

It’s gradual, the way they lean into it. Harry seems a bit like he’s holding back, letting Louis take the lead, set the speed, how far they can get with each other. He can feel the way Harry’s hands idle like they’re not sure where to go.

So Louis reaches up to cup the side of his face, pull him impossibly closer. One of his hands trails its way up to tangle in the roots of Harry’s hair and deepen the kiss. Adding tongue, letting his teeth play gently with Harry’s lips, shifting his bottom half forward to press against Harry’s already stiffening cock between their jeans.

Harry presses his palms into the curve of Louis’s back, pulling him closer. His breathing comes quicker as their hands roam under shirts, letting the smack of kisses between them overtake the busied chatter from below.

It escalates in a way that feels brand new and exciting, yet familiar and practised all at once. Louis just knows instinctively what to do, knows what motions make Harry feel good and how to earn the sighs and sounds he craves. 

Trousers are fumbled to the ground and pants get pulled down to thighs, and everything is heat and sweat all Louis kisses him all over, touches him all over.

His hands turn grabby and desperate as he cups the curves of Harry’s pert little arse, pulling their hips into each other, two hard cocks burning with the friction between them. Harry’s grip around Louis’s shoulders holds him steady as they lean against the metal railing.

“People can see us.” Harry mumbles into his mouth, and Louis smiles at those plush lips.

“Does it matter?” He asks, peppering kisses between it.

“S’kind of hot.” Harry drawls, tilting his head back for Louis’s mouth to find the veins in his neck.

“Really hot.” He agrees.

Harry’s trying to rub himself off between them now, but Louis won’t have it. The more frantic it becomes, the higher the wave inside him begins to build, the more effort it takes to forcibly remove their cocks from each other’s, and the only reason he does is for the reward of sliding himself between Harry’s cheeks instead.

The filthy squeal Harry gives on entrance simmers something fierce within him. He’s always wanted Harry to wreck him, not given much to the idea of being the one to undo Harry instead. Powerful Harry, who rules over literal demons and makes humans cower at just the thought of him. Yet here he is, bent over the balcony like a bashful little schoolgirl giving away her first flower.

It’s still careful, the way Louis rolls into him at first. A steady fucking, all the way in and the way out, deep and thorough in his motions. Harry’s grip against the bar tightens, knuckles going white as he breathes and moans with it. 

Louis wants to see his face, so his hands slide up into Harry’s curls to guide his head back, and their eyes meet as Harry’s perfectly dirty mouth hangs open and he begs for more without a single spoken word.

So Louis gives him exactly that. He folds forward to kiss at Harry’s parted lips, Harry leans into it, kissing back, grabbing back, bouncing back onto Louis’s cock in sync with his thrust, and nothing else exists in the world except for their breathy sighs and the tight squeeze of Harry around the length of him.

When Harry comes it’s a symphony of all the love and lust he’s held inside for all hundreds of his lives. Louis pushes harder into him through it, and then he pulls out and gets maybe one full stroke over himself before that’s all he can stand and he’s spurting over the curve of Harry’s spine with a covetous cry of his own.

They both take a moment to soak it in, let their pulse return to resting. And Harry’s laugh still comes out breathless when he says, “Hope they enjoyed the show.”

Louis chuckles along with him as he folds forward to plant kisses from one of Harry’s shoulders to the other.

“You just keep getting better every time.” Harry goes on, sounding fucked and dry in a way that makes Louis feel like he could go another round already, “I always think there’s no possible way it could ever be that good with any other version of you, and then you always fucking show yourself up.”

“It’s like muscle memory or something.” Louis admits between the smacks of his lips, “I don’t remember this, but my body sure fucking does.”

“Hallelujah.” Harry says, and they both chuckle breathlessly at the irony.

And usually by the time Louis finishes with anyone else, he’s sobered his senses enough to gather his clothes and flee from the situation.

For the first time in maybe ever, at least in The After, as he moulds himself into the big spoon with his arms hugged around Harry’s waist, still savouring the taste of the sticky skin at the nape of his neck, it feels more like Heaven than even the actual place could ever aspire to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	9. Chapter 9

Louis can’t think of a single situation in which he would actively enjoy being woken up by an aggressive banging against the front door before the crack of dawn. And yet, that’s exactly how he finds himself the next morning.

Harry jolts up in response much quicker than Louis’s groggy vision can even come into focus. He’s still stretching his arms out when he overhears the voices from the other room.

“Well, good morning officers!” Harry greets, far to cheery for however early it is. “What’s all this about?”

Louis can’t make out the other voices well, but he hears _Mr. Styles_ , along with his own name, followed by phrases like _indecent exposure_ and _sexual misconduct_.

Harry’s voice carries much clearer, “Would you like to come in for some coffee or tea?”

“No sir, we’re gonna need to take you and your guest down to the station.” Mr. Policeman says.

“Certainly if you’d rather I step into the hall with you, that works too.” He can hear the smile in Harry’s voice as he begins to work his special brand of Devil magic. Louis would quite like to see that, but then again it would require putting on pants at the very least, so he just listens to the door shut behind them and the rest becomes muffled through the walls.

He drifts off again for a brief moment and the next time he wakes it’s by Harry gently shaking him into consciousness.

“Morning, sunflower.” He speaks low, just above a whisper, “Catch any of that?”

“We’re in trouble for fucking on the terrace.” Louis blinks into focus.

“I did manage to get the charges dropped.” Harry chuckles, “But the hotel still wants us out. So if you’d like to spend more time in the city, I’d be happy to arrange other accommodation.”

It’s a lot to consider before even having his morning tea. Louis sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he spots his own bags already packed in the corner of his room.

He hadn’t actually thought of going home until now, but suddenly he missed Bebe and the weinbar, his bed, and their smoky leather sofa all at once. He also missed doner kebabs specifically, and began to consider the fact that Americans ate too much sugar and talked too loudly for no particular reason, both their beer and tea was vastly disappointing, and smoking here had gotten him far more dirty looks in just a short time than he’d seen in all his life back at home.

And despite everything, as the dawn breaks over a new day, Louis feels a spot of panic at the most recent events that landed him in this moment. Plural, seeing as Harry’s inhuman drive apparently makes him able to go multiple times in a row without even a refractory period. He probably could’ve kept going even, if Louis hadn’t been spent to the point of trembling once Harry had done things with his tongue, hands, cock, even _thighs_ that resulted in Louis willingly selling his own soul to The Devil for the small price of four completely orbit-shifting orgasms.

Today though, in this moment of unsexually charged clarity, the pressure is crushing and Louis’s nerves begin their niggling.

Could he really see a future with Harry beyond the bedroom antics, beyond the complicated elements of their friendship even? For all of eternity, no less? Did the choice really even belong to him, with their past history anchoring him to the commitment of forever? How would Harry manage if in the one reality where the option of being together until the end of time presented itself, Louis decided not to pursue it?

Or worse, if after all these years and lives chasing the idea of a happy ending, what if Louis Tomlinson, the person he is in this life, can’t measure up to all the other versions of him that Harry has loved before?

“I think it’s best we head home.” He finally decides as he flips the covers off his legs. “Where is that for you now, anyway?”

Harry stares at him in that withholding way before he answers.

“I have a place in LA, but I still much prefer the London flat, actually.” He says, “Dunno if I would call it home, but maybe the closest thing to it.”

“LA? You live in the States now?” He hadn’t even thought to ask where Harry was staying these days.

Harry laughs, “Does that offend you somehow?”

“Kind of, actually.” He says, “I’ve been here less than a week and could never imagine choosing to stay.”

“Well, you’ve only seen a small piece.” Harry refutes, “The west coast is quite a different environment than the deep south.”

“What’s so different about it? Or rather, what makes it so enjoyable?”

Harry shrugs, “I don’t think you’d be such a fan, to be honest. LA is quite superficial, but that’s one of the things I enjoy. Everybody’s too focused on themselves to give a damn about what I’m up to.”

“Sounds just lovely.” Louis mocks.

“It is, though.” Harry smiles, “I like the sunshine and the clean mindset. Light eats, fit people, lots of opportunities to get into trouble.”

“What’s to prefer about London, then?” Louis wonders.

Despite everything, Louis still misses the city too. He doesn’t often wonder what it would feel like to go back, but suddenly he finds his brain grasping at images of his old flat, Harry’s penthouse, his favourite coffee shops and bars and random buildings he liked to admire as he was just passing by.

Berlin holds all those things for him now, though. So maybe reminiscing isn’t the best idea.

Harry hesitates, lingering in their eye contact for a prolonged moment.

“I’ve had a relationship with England for a very long time.” He says, “As far as London in the present I love the bustle, the shopping, the food… all the memories I’ve made there. Of course it’s not the perfect place on Earth, but I’m not sure that even exists.”

Louis is nodding before he can even finish painting the picture.

“Do you ever miss it?” Harry asks, as if reading his mind per usual.

“Sometimes.” Louis answers honestly, sliding off the bed as he grabs for the clean clothes Harry had so graciously laid out for him before packing the bags. “Right now, I miss my bed quite a bit more. And that’s not in London anymore.”

“Flight arrangements, then. On it.” Harry nods, dismissing himself from the room.

*

They say their goodbyes at the terminals. Harry’s flight leaves an hour after Louis’s, so he waits to see him off before heading the direction of his own.

It’s nice. It’s easy. They chat on about their time in New Orleans, the night they spent with their friends, how far they’d come since the first day when Louis didn’t even want to look at him. They don’t bring up the sexcapade that got them kicked out of the hotel early, and Louis is again grateful for Harry’s ability to read him like an old favourite book.

As the call for boarding rings overhead, Harry meets Louis’s eyes and tucks his hands into his pockets, not sure how to ask for what Louis already knew what was coming at some point. He looks positively heartbreaking in his soft white shirt, shades pushed up into his chunky curls, comfy jeans, and old worn boots.

“I’ll call you.” He says, “Promise.”

“Okay.” Harry’s stone cold expression says he doesn’t believe it and that fuels Louis’s determination to prove him wrong.

“Just give me some time to settle in.” He assures.

Harry stretches his arms wide and waves him forward. Louis hesitates, drawing his lips together in a tight line as he forces his body not to give into its natural urge to respond.

“Will you stop being so stubborn for just one second?” Harry sucks his teeth. “I know you’ll miss me too.”

“You think you’re so clever.” Louis mumbles, but he tucks his head down and lets himself melt in the warmth of his embrace.

He will miss him. He misses him already and they haven’t even parted yet. He doesn’t really think about how his arms wrap themselves around Harry too, ignores the way his whole body cuddles into the smell of cotton and cucumber shampoo.

Harry hugs him tighter, strokes his hair, pushes the fringe off his forehead to plant a kiss in the middle. And for those few seconds of lips against skin, Louis shuts his eyes and lets himself picture it always being like this.

When they finally pull apart, their eyes scream to stay locked together, burning like the Hell that continuously stands between them.

So Louis grabs his bag and turns to stand in the boarding queue without another glance behind.

*

Bebe bolts towards the door and jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and causing him to drop his bag to the floor as soon as he steps inside.

“My Louis!” She sings his name with a giggle in her voice. She smells like fresh floral water with hints of nicotine and home, and he immediately returns the embrace with fervour.

“Alright, alright.” He eventually groans as he begins to lose his grip from being caught off guard.

“Missed you.” She mumbles into his shoulder. “I was so worried.”

“Worried?” He chuckles, “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m a fully capable adult.”

“As if.” She snorts, “I genuinely didn’t know if you’d even come back alive.”

“Unkillable, remember?” He says.

“So the voodoo witches didn’t work? Surprise, surprise.” She laughs, finally hopping down, graciously bringing his bag inside, and kicking the door closed behind them. “Tell me everything.”

So he does. From the moment they hung up the phone that first night, he fills her in on everything she missed from the angry ghost in the torture house, to the coma visits to both Heaven and Hell, the swamp murder attempt, the past lives reveal, they must spend a full twenty minutes recounting details of the sex alone, and of course nearly avoiding a misdemeanour charge for the whole public ordeal.

She adds her commentary, punctuating everything with laughter and eyerolls and a multitude of questions and scandalised gasps in all the appropriate places. She gets really stuck on the past life thing for a while, becoming super curious about the whos and whens and making Louis admit he doesn’t even have answers to all of it.

By the time she’s all caught up, they’re three blunts deep and stretched out along the length of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling in fuzzy amusement.

“I feel like the Louis who went on this trip is not the same one who came home today.” She says after taking a silent moment to absorb it all.

“Older and wiser.” Louis agrees, puffing on his cig before ashing in the tray on the floor beneath his arm.

“You fucked The Devil.” Her voice is purely incredulous. “ _Four times._ In front of a crowd. After I fucking warned you not to do exactly that!”

“Well, the last three happened in the privacy of our suite.” He clarifies, “But why am I not a bit surprised that’s all you took away from the whole story?”

“The Devil, Lou. You’re literally Satan’s mistress.” She emphasizes.

“Not the fact that I went to both Heaven and Hell, or that I’ve apparently been reincarnating since the beginning of time, or literally anything else?” He presses on. The more he says things out loud, the easier it becomes to embrace this whole wacky mess. It just sounds so much worse in words than it is in reality.

“I don’t know if I can condone any of this!” Bebe interlocks her hands over her chest, “I’m really fucking trying, but it goes against everything I’ve been taught since I was a little girl. I mean, I went to Catholic school! What would my parents think?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, but it definitely puts him on the defensive.

“Frankly, I don’t give half a shit what they’d think.” He quips. “What do you think?”

“I was appalled at first.” She says, “But a lot of what you’ve said makes it sound like he actually cares about you. And it’s not like he’s going around breathing fire and causing destruction wherever he steps, you know? Which is what I’ve been led to expect. But it’s so… I mean, _The Devil_ , Lou. You don’t think he’s playing you?”

He can only imagine how it must be to have an in-depth knowledge of the Bible and be confronted with the villain of it all. He only had the minimal bits of knowledge he’s collected over the years to go on, and even still the Harry he knew conflicted with his ideas for a long time before it eventually became just another fun fact about him.

“I can’t see what he’d have to gain from it.” He says, “I’ve known him for a long time and he’s never been anything but kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it. If it was a game to him, why not play with someone easier?”

She nods, contradicting it in the next breath, “Probably likes the challenge.” 

“I trust him, Bee.” He says, a bit more firmly. “You certainly don’t have to, but it is what it is at this point.”

“Okay,” She backs down a bit, still sucking down her own cig, “So what exactly is it? Like, do you love him back?”

And for some stupid reason, that catches him off guard.

Of course he loves and appreciates him in the same way he loves and appreciates Bebe. But he’s never been in love with anyone before, wasn’t something he was looking for anytime soon, and he didn’t know if he would ever be ready for the responsibility of carrying someone’s heart and building a life with them. He often still wondered if he was capable of taking care of himself properly, let alone a whole other person. Devil. Whatever.

“He was my best mate before any of this.” He skirts around the things he isn’t ready to address as usual, “It’d be a lie to say the bond isn’t still there.”

“He must have you in a trance.” She says. “It’s what he’s known for. All the way back to when Eve took the apple.”

“He said that story’s shit.” Louis defends, flicking his ash away. “He’s never even met an Eve before.”

“Oh well, if The Devil himself denied it then I’m sure that’s enough.” She quips.

“Listen, Bee.” Louis snuffs the butt out now, sitting up just enough to look her in the eyes. “I know this must be conflicting for you, but it’s my life. Not yours. If you think it’s in your best interest to distance yourself, then do what you must. But I’m not going to live based on your religious beliefs.”

“You’d really pick him over me?” Her mouth gapes incredulously, but he knows her well enough to be accustomed to the exaggerated way she speaks.

“I’m not picking anybody over anyone.” He refutes, “You’re telling me you’re not sure if you can handle this, but your options are either: A) accept that I am immortal on behalf of The Devil himself or B) leave me be. So what are _you_ going to pick?”

“This must be what he meant about you pushing him away.” She doesn’t falter one bit, and he’s always admired that certain strength about her.

Louis squirms. “Pretty sure he was talking about me always dying on him.”

“Why would he be frustrated with you for something you can’t help?” She argues, “My point is that if you’re gonna choose to stick with him for the rest of eternity, I guess I’ll have to make my own judgments on whether or not he’s worthy.”

“I haven’t chosen him for anything.” Louis scoffs.

“Sure sounds like you have.” She comments.

*

Days pass before he can even think about making the call. When he tries to picture it, his mind just goes blank. What would he even open with? Where did they even stand with each other at this point? To say they were just friends would be a boldfaced lie, but then, what actually were they?

Whatever the answer, he does miss Harry’s company, so every now and then, lets his finger hover above the name in his phone, gritting his teeth through the twisting of his gut until the screen turns to sleep mode.

Everything is so different after all they’ve weathered; after the sex, the trauma wounds reopened again and again, the history between them. Knowing that Harry has been a loyal soldier of his love for the past 300 lives and now he’s expecting Louis to live up to some eternal fantasy he’s held on to all this time?

And Harry is patient as usual, giving him all the space and time he needs, but somehow that makes it even worse. He wishes Harry would just make it easy by reaching out to close the distance between them.

Work goes on the same as ever. New Orleans certainly gave him a lot of conversation to share with his regulars, even with all the story editing he has to do. He tries to keep himself busy by working double shifts, but Harry still remains lingering in the back of his mind even after he has settled back into the daily grind.

Months pass without action and Louis begins to dismiss it all as nothing more than a wild adventure at an even wilder time in his life. Maybe he would’ve jumped at all of this in The Before, but he’d made up his mind that he’s better off keeping things simple in The After.

Seasons begin to change, and not a day goes by that Harry doesn’t cross his mind, but once the leaves start to fall and disappear into the wind, leaving nothing but the skeleton of trees behind and ushering in the biting chill of winter, it begins to seem ridiculous to even consider that Harry might still be waiting to hear from him. How foolish would it be to reach out nearly a full year after their adventure when it was probably nothing more than a blip on Harry’s ever expanding radar at this point?

He missed him. He missed the sound of Harry’s laugh, the dimples in his cheeks, that mischievous twinkle in his eye, all his curls and sighs. He and Bebe had some top banter, of course, but each time they had a laugh with one another, his heart longed to still have that with Harry, too. He missed talking about big things in their smoky haze and all the knowledge Harry had to share about the universe and how things had changed. He wanted to know more about these lives he couldn’t remember, wanted to unravel each and every version of the two of them finding each other. Wanted to chase after that feeling that even all that time spent together still hasn’t been enough.

He missed touching him, God, Louis knew better than to believe in deities, but being bare skinned with Harry under the covers could make him fall to his knees in prayer. He’d been playing with the idea of that for as long as he can remember, and there wasn’t a thing in the world he’d rather do now than succumb to the warmth of Harry’s legs wrapped around his waist.

But he still didn’t know how to tell him any of that. And maybe there was some small part of him that hoped Harry would still be waiting someday, when he did feel ready.

He’s got his earbuds in on the train ride home after working an open to close, completely zoned into the music.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and starts mouthing at him before he can even begin to press pause.

“Sorry, what?” He asks.

“I ask what you listen to.” The man says. He must be about 65 at least, so his English is a little choppy compared to the younger generation of Germans who were raised to be bilingual, but if this some kind of come on, Louis is so not interested.

“Uh, The Smiths.” He curtly answers.

“Oh. You know Lizzo?” The man asks.

He shrugs. “I mean, I’ve heard of her.”

“Her music is what you like?” He keeps prying.

“Not particularly.” Louis almost laughs, “Why do you ask?”

“I have these. First row.” He presents two tickets from his pocket and thrusts them into Louis’s personal space. “I win in contest for work, and I think my granddaughter could want, but she’s more heavy metal.”

“So you’re offering them to a stranger?” Louis raises a brow.

The man shrugs. “If you don’t want, I ask someone else.”

He almost turns down the offer, but something compels him to glance down and the familiar lettering jumps out at him like a smack across the face, bringing a lurching swoop to his stomach.

 _Harry Styles_ is named as the opening act.

“Oh.” He practically gasps. What are the fucking chances?

“Something wrong?” The man asks.

“No, I just… I know the opener.” He explains.

Suddenly it hits him that Harry will be back in Berlin. In just four days, he notices by the date. On tour, of all things, because apparently he’s decided to pursue his music more seriously, which are some nice little facts that he’s just learning in the moment, because they’ve not spoken a word to each other since that day at the airport.

“So you take!” The man drops the tickets into his lap.

He’s not exactly sure he wants them, but he’s also not a hundred percent keen on the idea of ignoring a chance to see Harry in person again, even if only on stage. And it’s not completely ridiculous to think that Harry might notice him standing in the very first row of an arena full of people, but it is completely ridiculous to even imagine that happening in the first place, because Louis has had all the time on Earth to pick up the goddamn phone or even shoot him a simple text and he’s done nothing with it.

He doesn’t even know what to say, but maybe something will come to him if they could just have a moment to stand face to face again. Maybe if Louis could see him in person, it might shock his brain into finding the right words that would bring them back together.

“What exactly do you do for work?” Louis asks the guy, suddenly suspicious of if they’re even real or not.

“Security.” He says, “So I don’t need, because I’m there anyway.”

“And you’re absolutely sure that you can’t find anyone else to give them to?” He checks one last time.

“Probably other train person.” The man shrugs, “Someone will take eventually.”

“Okay,” Louis is tentative, but with everything he’s learned it would be almost comically dense of him to not recognise this as some sort of cosmic sign. “Well, that’s very kind of you. Cheers.”

He stuffs them into his pocket where they burn a hole there for the rest of the way home.  


*

  
“You mean to tell me that a random man who happened to be on the same train as you at 2:30am after a Wednesday close, just happened to have a pair of front row seats to Lizzo that he just happened to want to give away for free?” Bebe’s jaw literally hangs open as she relays his summary of the odd encounter over tea and coffee at their kitchen table the following morning. “And that your ex-whatever, the overlord of the underworld, just happens to be the opening act at that exact same show?”

“I need some perspective, here.” Louis purses his lips before tilting his mug for a sip, “Tell me this is just some huge coincidence and not a direct sign that I should call him or something.”

“Lou, this does not happen to normal people.” She grabs the tickets and holds them up to the light as if that would somehow reveal they’re fake or something. “Where did this old dude even get them?”

“He works security. Won them in some kind of contest.” Louis says.

“Why not sell them, then?” She gawks, “Lizzo’s huge right now, this is like fucking gold!”

“I don’t know, Bee! Maybe he just wanted to do a good deed.” Louis says, “He probably doesn’t even realise how famous she is.”

“Well that’s just fucking insane!” Her shouting falls somewhere between an exaggerated mix of surprise and enthusiasm.

“My life is fucking insane!” His is more so on the frantic side because it’s definitely settling in that he really doesn’t seem to have a say in whether he wants to separate from Harry or not.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be such a bad thing. If every single unseen force in the universe is conspiring to push them together, then maybe there truly is a reason for it. A reason worth exploring.

“I suppose he could’ve hired someone to track you down or something, right?” Bebe throws an idea out, still not used to trying and failing to make logical sense of every otherworldly event that’s affected him since the immortal debacle the way Louis is.

“It wouldn’t be too far fetched.” Louis ponders.

“But then why not just call and invite you himself?” She counters her own theory.

“Pride, possibly?” Louis takes another sip. “He already poured his heart out to me, so how embarrassing would it be to practically beg me to pay attention to him after that?”

But of the two of them, only he knows that Harry’s not that kind of guy. The man has no shame when it comes to being open with Louis, so if he wanted to see him, he would’ve just called. Or showed up on his fucking doorstep like before, which arguably makes the idea of being the one to pop up front row at one of Harry’s shows completely out of the blue seem even more daunting.

Louis has learned enough about the hidden phenomena of the world to trust his gut, though. And his gut says this isn’t Harry’s doing, but not completely coincidental either. It is a message. A clear push back onto his rightful path.

 _You can’t stop fate, Boo Bear, no matter how hard you try…_ His mum’s voice rings between his ears.

The problem is that the idea of anyone or anything trying to control his life just makes him want to fight even harder to avoid it.

“We’re going though, right?” Bebe looks up at him, big bright eyes widened in hope. “I love Lizzo. Whether it’s a ploy or not, we can’t miss this.”

And of course there would be one last obstacle in his way to make it nearly impossible to say no.

*

He and Bebe get all dolled up on concert night. For Louis that means putting on his best black Adidas trackies for the occasion, but then considers it might be a little much. Bee insists that any kind of trackies will never be too much for any occasion, if anything he’s still underdressed, and doesn’t that come off as just casual and cool enough for him to stick with them?

He’s seen Harry perform live far too many times to even begin to count, but from front and center among a whole sea of people who are already filling the seats of the Mercedes Benz Arena just for the opening act, it’s really quite surreal. His every nerve is buzzing as the screen begins to flash photos of Lizzo doing her thing on stages around the world.

At one point, the slideshow displays a picture of them two of them hugged up together on a couch in what looks like a backstage dressing room. Their cheeks pressed together while they sport the two biggest grins on Earth.

A few shrieks of excitement erupt from the crowd at the photo, and Louis realises that Harry must already have fans in the crowd for something like that to happen. Which isn’t totally far-fetched, considering his music alone is the product of decades of talent and practice, let alone his natural charm and explosive stage presence that makes him all the perfect recipe for stardom.

However, Louis’s stomach flops itself over once at the reaction.

The idea that Harry’s on his rise to fame without Louis by his side to cheer him on tastes like acid reflux. He should be there. Who else does Harry have to bounce his lyrical ideas off of? Who else can he trust to give him the honest praise and critique he deserves to become the very best he can be? Who else could he possibly serenade with all the hundreds of words he’s penned for all the hundreds of versions of the single love of his life that have ever existed?

When he finally takes the stage and the crowd roars his welcome, Louis’s mind makes itself up. Of course it’s him. Of course he’s the only one who could fill that spot in Harry’s life and of course he wants to. Of course he’s fucking sorrier than ever for being the massive thorn in the arse that he tried to promise himself he wouldn’t be for Harry anymore.

Harry’s glowing and gorgeous as ever, looking like a pure angel in a white lace suit complete with gloves and his trademark pearl necklace. Louis could kiss every inch of exposed skin on his face, lingering on the lips which seem to be painted a bright matte red like freshly picked roses.

He waves out to the crowd as he approaches the mic stand, blowing kisses on his way to speak.

“Hallo Berlin,” He smiles wide while he pauses to let them scream their adoration. “My name is Harry Styles, and I’m here to play some songs for you tonight.”

His name slices right through Louis’s chest like the arrow he tattooed on his skin to complement Harry’s heart way back in The Before.

There’s a piano behind him, so the spotlight follows as he turns to take a seat and a hush falls over the arena.

The opening melody starts slow and calculated, floating through the room for a few bars before he leans forward to add his vocals. Louis is mesmerised from the moment he begins, watching his lips and the scrunch of his face as he sings low, in a way to capture the depressive rises and dips of the song.

Louis was sure that Harry hadn’t noticed him standing front and centre, until the second verse begins and his eyes open to fall directly into Louis’s like he’d bookmarked exactly where to go.

_You said you cared_

_And you missed me, too_

_And I’m well aware I write too many songs about you_

It’s fire, rage, heartache. He may as well just bludgeon a fucking hammer right into Louis’s head, it would be less painful. It’s bad enough to deal with his own mess of emotions, but to see how clearly his hesitation has hurt Harry too is infinitely worse.

After all that Harry has done for him in all his lifetimes.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut again as he belts out the following notes and Bebe reaches down to give Louis’s hand a squeeze of support.

_What if I’m down?_

_What if I’m out?_

_What if I’m someone you don’t want around?_

_I’m falling again, I’m falling again_

_I’m falling_

The rest of the set keeps him hooked on every single note, every tiny motion.

He notices there’s someone that Harry keeps looking over at off to the left side of the stage. The glances don’t seem to be as calculated as the ones meant for him, which also keep coming throughout the six songs he’s scheduled to play. But the curiosity still eats away at Louis’s brain, selfish in its thirst to claim all of the attention that should be focused on the crowd above anyone else.

Finally, after the seemingly endless guitar solo of a number about some nameless woman who lives in his daydreams, Harry takes a moment to jog off to the person for a gulp of water.

Louis struggles to make out actual facial features from his seat, but it looks like some man with dark hair and a healthy goatee facial hair combo. It can’t possibly be Zayn, though, because Louis couldn’t possibly miss the way he grabs both sides of Harry’s face to smack a kiss on his lips and reapply his color before sending him back on stage with a farewell smack on the bum.

For reasons unfair and unnamed, Louis is instantly furious. It should be him. He should’ve snatched him up when Harry practically ripped his heart out and begged him to take it. He’s ready to kick himself for being daft enough to let the moment pass both of them by. And for so fucking long, too. Why didn’t he just fucking say something when he had the chance?

Harry doesn’t leave him much time to simmer on that, though, because his voice comes through the mic another moment later.

“Thank you for having me tonight, Berlin.” He beams, deliberately not looking Louis in the eyes this time. He gives the audience a moment to get their cheers out before he adds, “I just have one more song for you all before our Queen, Miss Lizzo, can take over.”

A much larger roar of excitement erupts, and Harry gives a slight bow of respect.

“This one is for that moment when you wake up next to somebody and you just can’t believe how fucking lucky you are.” His grin fades into a soft smile, the harsh contrast of the overhead lighting carving the dimples of his cheeks even deeper.

His eyes flick down to Louis for just a quick second before the drums smash in time with the little _Hey!_ that he shouts as he jumps into the tune.

It’s bright and fun as the first sunshiny day of summer and there’s no mistaking the way that Harry sings it right at him.

_Golden, as I open my eyes_

_Hold it, focus, hoping,_

_Take me back to the light…_

Bebe would never admit it, but despite that she managed to stay stiff for the whole show so far, even she begins to loosen up now as she sways to the beat.

It is quite contagious. Even Louis can’t help but melt a little. Harry’s singing about him like he put the fucking sun in the sky. And he sounds like an absolute trance. And Louis is just so filled to the brim with worries, wants, questions, uncertainties, fears, and needs he can hardly keep it all inside.

And Harry’s looking at him again. He’s standing ten feet away and he’s singing to Louis like out of everybody in the room he’s the only thing he can see, and Louis just missed him so fucking much.

It takes a lot to make him cry, but Harry notices the tear he wipes from under his eye before it can get too far, and his smile only grows because he must know it’s not entirely a bad thing.

_I know that you’re scared because I’m so open…_

The guitar strums quick and sharp to indicate the song’s tipping point and Harry jumps away from the mic to flail around stage like he does, getting the crowd to jump along with him as he loses himself in the music.

His band keeps playing as he approaches the mic again.

“Danke sehr, Berlin! It’s truly been an honour!” He blows kiss after kiss out to the crowd as he bows his way behind the stage again, the lights come on in the arena, and Louis is flooded with the crippling gust of his absence.

The crowd remains chattery and buzzing off the high he left in his wake as some of them flutter off to refill their drinks and such before the main act.

“How are you feeling?” Bebe asks into his ear.

Louis just shrugs, really not having an answer to that just yet. Who was that guy Harry kissed backstage and why is he still singing for Louis if it matters enough to bring him on tour?

“That last song was quite nice.” He admits, because it’s easier than asking those questions out loud.

“He’s alright.” Bebe does her best to act like she wasn’t into it, and bless her for that.

Every single fiber of his being pulls against his skin, begging to follow behind where Harry ran backstage. His mind races with a thousand images of a sweaty Harry toweling off, high fiving his crew, settling in with his band and that guy for some drinks and a laugh to go with it. What kind of cruel joke has he played on himself to let it come to the point where Harry is right there and yet may as well be on another continent because Louis can’t reach him anyway?

He didn’t particularly want to stay for Lizzo’s portion of the show, but Louis can’t get himself to move. If he moves, it’s over. And he knows that’s ridiculous because he could call Harry at any moment and he’s sure there’d be an answer, but who knows what city he’s headed to after this? Who knows when they’ll get the chance to be in the same room together again? 

“Are you alright? Want to step outside?” Bee asks, interrupting his internal crisis. 

He’s not sure what he expected to get out of this. All of a sudden it seems foolish to have even entertained the idea of anything more than a decimatingly intimate show that rightfully should’ve shredded him to bits.

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he reaches for her hand. She holds his gaze for a minute, squeezing his hand and raising their interlocked fingers to her mouth for a soft and sympathetic kiss before leading the way. 

Someone stops them before they can turn to leave, though.

“Hey, you!” Louis instantly recognises the salt-and-pepper beard of the man from the train. “You make it!”

“I did.” He tried his best to give a smile when it feels like the world is crumbling to bits around him. “Thank you, again.”

“You want backstage.” He says, “From Styles team. I thought you mean you heard of the opener, not actually knowing him!”

That demands Louis’s full attention.

“I, uh.” He blinks, “I don’t really know him anymore, to be honest.”

“Well, somebody ask for you. Come, follow me.” He opens one section of the gate for the two of them, cautioning the rest of the crowd to stay back as it closes behind them.  


*

“Tommo! Bebelicious!” It’s Niall who greets them with his arms wide open as they enter the back dressing room. He pulls them both in for a squeeze, and Bebe nearly breaks the two of them with the force of it.

“Nialler!” She shouts, tucking her head into his shoulder.

“Oof.” Louis coughs, wiggling his way out of the embrace. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Cheers.” Zayn waves from where he’s sat on the couch behind them. There’s a few more people in the room that Louis recognises as Harry’s new backing band, so he gives them a nod of acknowledgement before being introduced.

Harry used to just play bars and clubs, so everything was done at home or in cars and vans, but here in his dressing room, there’s a couple low couches with a table between them, a desk with a vanity mirror attached, one of those travelling wardrobes that can be disassembled and reassembled at will, a chest probably full of more clothing, a mini fridge he can bet is stocked full of water and beer, and three of Harry’s favourite sticker-adorned guitars lined up on the wall.

“Are you two an item now?” Louis motions back to Niall and Zayn, trying to hide the scandal on his face. He thought they’d just shared a night together in New Orleans and that was the end of it.

They both laugh.

“We decided to just stay friends.” Zayn says, “Not that he hasn’t rocked my world a few times since then.” 

“You’re too lovely to me, Z.” Niall winks his way.

“That is mad.” Louis says, half assed as he tries his hardest not to wonder where the fuck Harry’s gone off to. Tries not to shrink in on himself at being faced with the realisation of being left out of this seemingly tight-knit little group. At no fault of anyone but himself, he’s bitterly aware.

“That is… you’re Zayn Malik.” Bebe finally catches up. Zayn just nods in acknowledgement like the cocky bastard he was created to be, and she smacks Niall on the bicep. “You never told me you hooked up with a fucking famous model!”

“We haven’t talked in a while.” Niall shrugs.

“Well, fucking catch me up then! What else have I missed?” She drags him to sit on one of the couches, leaving Louis to mosey his way over next to Zayn.

“He’ll be right back.” Zayn says before Louis can even ask.

“Maybe it’s you I missed, ya git.” Louis rolls his eyes.

“That’s sweet.” Zayn grins. “I know you’re lying, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Louis bristles, “What have you got on you? Could use a bit of a buzz.”

He reaches for the front pocket of his denim jacket and pulls out a bottle of Tylenol that’s not actually mild pain relief medicine at all.

“Does he know you guys called us back here?” Louis pops whatever’s handed to him, not giving a fuck what it actually is and also trusting Zayn enough not to completely fuck him over. He pulls a cig out of his case too, needing something familiar to calm the fucking swarm going in his head.

“Trade?” Zayn dodges the question, reaching for a smoke himself. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, mate. What you getting up to these days?”

Louis is aware of exactly what he just did in terms of diversion, though without the faintest clue why. Does Harry not want to actually see him anymore? Has he ran off somewhere with that guy from before? Exactly what kind of shit storm has Louis just wandered into?

“Taking it easy, same as ever.” Louis shrugs.

“Most certainly not the same as ever.” Zayn snorts a laugh. “The Louis I used to know would have a thousand tales to tell after falling off the face of the planet for that long.” 

“Haven’t you heard? He’s dead, mate!” Louis laughs along with him, puffing on his cig quickly. “The new me’s settled down quite a bit.” 

“Also not what I’ve heard.” Zayn smirks.

Harry walks in then, with his arm draped around the guy from side stage before, instantly commandeering Louis’s full attention.

His gut flips and twists all at once. Flips, because Harry is still as effortlessly heart-stopping as ever in his after show glow. He’s holding a bottle of Maker’s Mark in his free hand and he’s removed his gloves, but the lace jumpsuit is now unbuttoned enough to reveal the sparrow’s wings on his pecs and Louis wants to lick him all over. 

Twists, because Harry’s smiling as he looks to the stranger on his arm, and then when he focuses forward into the room before them and their eyes find each other’s like a homing device, his face falls. He definitely didn’t know that Louis was invited back here.

“Lou.” He says. His eyes slightly wide, mouth parted in shock. The bright red of his stage makeup has mostly gone off, leaving his lips stained a more dull, faded shade now.

“Hi.” Louis says, mentally smacking himself upside the head for the depths of lameness to that greeting. 

He tries not to let it show how deeply the sight of his arm around another man irks him and that’s a ridiculous thought because Louis is not even The Man in his life, never has been, so the idea that there could be _another_ man is completely bonkers.

“What… I mean, I didn’t expect to see you. Back here.” He blinks.

“I didn’t expect to be back here.” Louis chuckles weakly.

“Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met?” The guy on his shoulder leans forward to offer him a handshake.

He pushes down his disdain to return the gesture as he introduces himself, “Louis. Old friend of Harry’s.”

His heart beats all the way into his ears as he says it, feeling hollow with the word like it’ll always fall short of capturing the depth between them. He’s not a mean person, but acting like he doesn’t want this stranger to vanish from existence in the moment takes an unparalleled amount of effort.

“Nice to meet you, Louis. I’m Winston.” He smiles politely anyway. The guy isn’t bad looking, actually smells pretty nice despite the grunge look he sports, and has a great smile. It’s only jealousy that makes Louis yearn for him to disappear. To not ever have existed in the realm of Harry’s world, anyway. “Wanna shot?” 

Winston reaches to grab the bottle from Harry’s hand without boundaries, like they’re far more comfortable around each other than Louis would like to acknowledge. 

“Sure.” Louis nods. He’d like to down the whole bottle at the moment, if he’s being honest. 

“I hope you’ve brought enough to share with the rest of the class.” Zayn diffuses the awkward air by waving Winston over to join the room. 

Louis is _not_ a mean person, and yes he is jealous, and yes things are a bit fuzzy around the edges from the mystery pill Zayn gave him, and yes they’ve been downing shots so quickly there’s only about two fingers left in the bottle, but it still turns out that Harry’s new beau is fucking awful. 

He acts like he’s somehow better than everyone in the room; one of those lads who always has a cooler story to tell about how much more he’s accomplished than you have, and he’s smug as all hell about his music taste, which includes criticising Harry’s blossoming career. And Harry isn’t one to sit back and take a jab without having one of his own to throw right back, but it makes Louis’s blood boil that he would even have to defend himself regardless. The most basic life rule is to pick someone who’s supportive to share your life with, so how very dare Harry for settling on this dickhead. He must be a really good shag, because Louis can’t find a single other redeemable quality about him, and that’s another thought he’d rather not entertain too deeply at the moment.

Bebe had wanted to go watch the show, so Niall went to stand side stage with her to leave only four of them in the room together. Eventually, Zayn shoots Louis a very pointed look before rising to excuse himself as well. 

“Gonna go hunt down the blonds,” He says, ignoring Winston in a way that makes his matched disdain for the lad pretty well received. 

He doesn’t seem to have a clue of the history between Louis and Harry, so Louis can’t blame him for not giving them some time of their own, but he sure isn’t sharp enough to read a room either. Or maybe he’s deliberately trying to ignore the awkwardness in the air when he continues to reach for another shot and offers one to Harry as well.

“Actually babes, could you give us a moment?” Harry smoothly refuses.

Winston doesn’t budge, looking towards Louis like that comment was meant for him or something. Louis stares him down as he sips from his glass. He’d thought that Harry hadn’t mentioned him based on the way that Winston didn’t seem to know who he was, but now Louis begins to think he might just be really good at putting on a show.

“Winnie.” Harry urges with his tone.

He continues to sit his ground in this case, but after Harry out stares him for a few more beats, he huffs and hauls himself up to a stand.

Arms crossed, he leans down for a kiss before he goes and Harry turns his head to the side to ensure that it lands on his cheek. 

“You shitting me right now?” He blinks in recoil.

“Louis is a good friend, we haven’t seen each other in a while.” Harry says, nodding him towards the open door, “I’d like a moment to catch up with him alone.”

“For what?” Winston bristles, “What can you have to catch up on that can’t include me as well?”

“Winston, please.” Harry closes his eyes and rubs his temples, “Really not the time for one of your little fits.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a bloody fit!” He nearly shouts, throwing his arms up the Heavens as he stomps his way out of the room.

“He seems lovely.” Louis comments when they’re finally alone.

Harry smirks, inviting the dimples to hop into their conversation as well. 

“It’s so nice to see you again.” He says.

“You look really happy.” Louis notices, genuinely this time. “Aside from all that… you know.”

His smile softens, but he doesn’t confirm or deny. “You look the same as ever.”

“After I deigned to get all dressed up for the event?” Louis rolls his eyes, “Gee, thanks.”

“No, it’s nice.” Harry chuckles, “Things have been crazy lately, even for me. But you’re like… familiar, in a good way.”

“You missed me.” Louis summarises, only a teeny bit smug.

“I’ve been keeping busy.” Harry says. It’s so strange the way he won’t just come out and say it like he used to. He’s always been so unabashedly honest. Who is this too-cool-for-you rockstar type sitting in front of him now?

“I see that.” He acknowledges, “What prompted all this? After being so content with your indie status thus far.”

Harry shrugs. “Life gets boring after a few thousand years, ya know? Time to spice it up a bit.”

Louis has no right to be upset about the distance between them when he’s the one who practically went out of his way to create it. Mere months ago, Harry stood before him and said he’s never loved anyone but Louis for all his time alive. They spent an entire night inside each other, for Christ’s sake. Are they just supposed to act like none of it happened?

He’d do anything to skip all the bloody small talk and just be real with Harry again.

“Well what happens when you’re a big star fifty years down the road and you haven’t aged a day?” He lets it sound a bit like a tease despite the genuine curiosity as to whether Harry’s fully thought such a crucial career move all the way through or not.

“I’ll just tell everyone I’ve got a really good surgeon.” His grin earns a laugh, having effectively warmed up enough for Louis to relax a bit himself.

He can picture it so clearly. Harry just has that personality that was made to be in the spotlight. The perfect blend of charming, unique, influential, with just a touch of mystery to leave you always wanting more.

He swears it runs deeper than that, but something about the image of being loved by someone the whole world could easily covet makes Louis feel invincible. And yet, his face falls when he remembers the guy who’s currently got his attention.

“You didn’t call.” Harry finally says, like he’s answering that train of thought before it can crash off the rails.

Louis sighs. “I haven’t figured out what to say.”

“I wanted to wait for you.” Harry says, “But I just…”

“You’ve waited enough.” Louis nods his dismissal; he couldn’t bear another apology from Harry when he’s the one who screwed it all up again. “I do wish you’d chosen someone a bit more pleasant to spend your time with, though.”

Harry always did have a taste for people rough around the edges, but usually there was something worthy to be found underneath it all. Maybe Winston did have certain qualities about him that Louis didn’t know him well enough to see yet. 

“He wasn’t my first choice.” Harry holds his gaze for a brief but intense moment before asking, “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Always do.” Louis smiles. He tiptoes around addressing the glaring fact that the songs were all for him, as they always have been, because they should be about somebody else now. Even if that somebody else isn’t who he’d rather be with, it’s not fair to be with them while holding a candle for the one who’s really in your heart. Even if the butterflies are swarming in Louis’s tummy for the implications of still being in Harry’s heart.

“What did Bebe think?” Harry gives him all the space in the world to breathe, as usual, but Louis is busy trying to find a way to say all the things he’s been holding onto in the quiet space of his bedroom late at night, when he misses Harry most of all. He can’t miss the opportunity that the whole universe had conspired to create for that exact reason.

“She’s unwilling to admit her intrigue.” Louis chuckles, “But she came, so that’s a step in itself.”

“I’ll win her over, someday.” Harry trails off when he realises that Louis hasn’t made it clear whether there will be a someday or not. 

They just stare at each other for a moment longer, until he can’t fucking stand it anymore. How do they get back to normal again? How do they pick up where they left off?

“So what usually happens after…” Louis lets him fill in the blanks, “I’m lost as to where we’re supposed to go from here.”

“After we fuck or I tell you about the past?” Harry’s already on the same page.

“Both, I suppose.” Louis says.

“Usually after I tell you, one of two things happens.” Harry says, “You have an absolute meltdown, run away, and something happens to you before we can make up again… or, the other thing.”

“And after the sex?” Louis presses.

“Listen, Lou.” Harry says, leaning forward to grab the bottle from the table and twist the top off. He takes a quick gulp and winces at the truth more than anything, “I can tell you about some of the ways it’s gone before, but what would it really matter? The only thing that matters is what you want in this life. And I’ve been completely transparent with you about my end of it, so whatever you do with that information is entirely up to you.”

“What about…?” Louis just nods in the general direction that Harry sent his little boy toy off to.

“Who?” Harry plays dumb, quirking his head to one side for emphasis.

“So it’s not serious?” He wonders.

“Not that important, either.” Harry says, “For you, it can be over as quickly as it began.”

“That’s rather nasty of you.” He says, while his heart screams at the romance of it all.

“You think I give a shit?” Harry laughs in a tone darker than usual, “If you asked anyone to choose between the love of their eternal life or some bloke who’s just fit enough to pass the time, the answer’s pretty fucking obvious, innit?”

Louis gulps. Maybe because the idea of Harry leaving another man for him doesn’t actually bother him one bit. Sounds kind of tempting, even.

“The reason I haven’t called is because I don’t know what to do with that information, H.” He finally admits, letting all the confusion that’s been haunting him for all the time they’ve spent apart, “You tell me out of the blue that I’m the fucking champion of reincarnation and somehow we keep running into each other no matter who I am or where we meet, and out of the hundreds of times that’s happened you’ve fallen for me in all of them, and I’m supposed to just not be totally intimidated by that?”

“Most people would find it romantic.” Harry grumbles.

“It is fucking romantic! It’s some soulmate level bullshit!” Louis spits, “It feels like I don’t even have a say in the matter because it’s already written in the fucking stars or whatever.”

“You absolutely have a say in it.” Harry lets the frustration saturate his voice too, “But you haven’t said anything yet, and that’s exactly the problem. You just left me hanging, again! You left me.”

The way his voice cracks at the end in his desperation has goosebumps prickling Louis’s skin. He wants to just grab him, scoop him up and stroke his hair and apologise for every shit thing he’s ever done to make Harry feel anything less than the most lovely creature on the planet. 

“Okay, so what if I don’t want it, then?” He blurts the worst possible scenario instead, “What happens if, after everything you’ve been through for me, I just decide to say no thanks, not interested and move on with my life without you?”

“I’d like it if we stayed friends, at least.” Harry says, but his jaw is clenched to make the veins in his neck visible.

“You’d be alright with the love of your eternal life not wanting to be with you romantically?” Louis presses him.

“I’ve pretty much accepted by now that losing you is my personal torture room.” He says, “So, don’t worry about me. I’ll manage, like always.”

“This is different and you know it.” Louis argues anyway, “Because there’s no do-overs. You wouldn’t just have to wait until you get another chance in the next life. This is it, I’m here forever. And if I did choose to tie myself to you for eternity…” He gulps, “How am I meant to live up to all those other versions of me?”

“I would never expect that from you.” Harry says, “You’re a different person now.”

“But—

“Stop focusing on the past, you git.” Harry interrupts. “None of those people matter anymore. They’re literally dead. To me and to the world.”

“But they’re not dead to you!” Louis objects, “They’re all right here in my fucking soul, my eyes, my expressions, or what the fuck else it is about me that you can’t seem to let go of.”

“You do have some qualities I’ve loved about them, and it is some of what I love about you.” Harry softens into a hint of a smile, “But I’m not the same person I was the first or the last time we met, either. I still grow and change and learn new things about myself every day. And everyone has people they’ve loved in the past, no?” 

“No.” Louis says. He’s never been in love and never wanted to, until Harry. Until being forcibly smacked over the head with the realisation that life without his best fucking mate, and without fucking his best mate, is pretty shite in comparison to life with it.

“My point is that life goes on. People change, we can love people we’ve lost and still have room for others.” Harry goes on, “So who cares who I’ve loved before? Since 1991, the only person you’ve been is Louis William Tomlinson. Born and raised in Doncaster, moved to London at just 18, bar hopping around the world, getting into all kinds of supernatural trouble, being stubborn as all fucking Hell, and loving so goddamn hard that once the bond is there you’re pretty much stuck for life, am I right?”

The question seems so obvious that Louis isn’t sure what Harry’s getting at with it.

“It’s not a trick question.” Harry urges, “Does that sound like the Louis Tomlinson you’ve been all your life, yes or no?”

“Yes. Of course. Duh.” Louis says.

“Well, ever since I met him at that tiny show in London ages ago, that’s exactly who I’ve been in love with.” He says. “And the only person I expect you to be now is whoever the fuck you show me that is.”

He gulps.

“So what do you, Louis Tomlinson, want to do with the knowledge that I, Harry Styles, am tragically, torturously in love with you?” Harry presses on. 

And really, when he puts it that way, Louis starts to wonder exactly what he was so afraid of all along?

He just wants to stay close. In whatever way he can, he doesn’t want to go back to trying to erase Harry. He just wants more time to know Harry in this life, to laugh with him and get stupid buzzed with him, more kisses and more touching and talking and even fighting. With Harry, even the fighting isn’t so bad. It beats not talking at all.

It’s just Harry. Goofy, witty, patient, kind, and loving Harry. None of that Devil bullshit even matters.

“Kiss.” He mumbles, lamely.

“Speak up, love. What was that?” Harry presses.

“I want to kiss you!” Louis finally blurts it out loud.

Harry blinks, pausing for a moment as that soaks in, and then the dimples come out to play again. “Then kiss me, you fool.”

So he does. And it feels like that first gasp into consciousness after waking from a nightmare. The moment when you look around your room and realise it was all just a terrible dream, but it’s over now and you’re safe in bed.

It’s messy and desperate because they haven’t seen each other in what feels like an eternity to Louis anyway, and the last time he had Harry like this was so fucking explosive that he’s instantly hard at the memory and the taste of Harry’s breath on his tongue.

His hands snake up to tangle in the back of Harry’s hair as large hands curve around the shape of his bum. And some part of him can’t help the way he springs up to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, and some other part finds it irresistible when Harry moans into his mouth, separating them for just long enough to bite at Louis’s bottom lip and suck their faces back together.

Harry carries him to the centre table and the way he knocks everything off it to lie Louis down is so clichéd and and yet so fucking hot to have that movie moment play out in real life that Louis doesn’t even let go, keeps kissing all over the angles of Harry’s jaw and down his neck as Harry’s hands slide their way underneath his shirt to pull it over his head.

His own comes off moments later, and he’s undoing Louis’s jeans to wrap a hand around him and stroke his way right into the middle of Louis’s growing heart. He’s never heard himself breathe so delicate and feral all at once, never felt like he was going to dissolve into dust unless he comes right in that moment, never chased the feeling so ferociously that it ends just as quickly as it started, never felt so fucking embarrassed at how short he was able to last.

“Shh, it’s fine. It’s hot. You’re so fucking fit.” Harry says lowly as he licks into Louis’s mouth, hand still moving up and down so slowly it has Louis actually fucking whimpering as his head lolls backwards into bliss.

“I knew it! You fucking dickhead!” Winston’s voice reappears in the doorway, but Harry doesn’t even flinch.

Louis’s is hyper aware of the image splayed out in front of him and yet, all he can do is laugh. It’s breathless and loopy and makes things infinitely worse from the cheated’s perspective, but he just doesn’t fucking care at the moment. And maybe that makes the two of them some kind of monsters, but maybe that’s part of what makes them so suited for each other in the end.

“If you knew, then why come back to watch?” Harry hangs his head down to speak into Louis’s collarbone, not even sparing the guy a look over his shoulder. It’s the cruelest he’s ever seen Harry be to a human being and somehow that just turns him on more.

“Beats the Hell out of me!” He literally stomps off, and somehow the dramatics of it all makes them both burst into a fit of real, deep, belly laughter.

It wouldn’t have lasted with him anyway. Nothing makes more sense than the undeniable proof that Harry and Louis were always meant to be a pair of menacing little shits together.

“I think I’m in love with you, too.” Louis breathes it to the ceiling as he melts into the sound of that.

“Is that what this is all about?” He can feel Harry’s smile against his neck as he gives Louis a quick jerk in reference.

“Might be.” Louis squeaks, actually fucking squeaks at the tiny tug against him.

“Well, I might not believe you.” Harry says it with a hint of a pout in his voice as he moves even lower to plant kisses across Louis’s collarbones.

“What?” He lets out a breathy laugh as he looks down at the top of Harry’s loose curls.

“You heard me.” Harry gently scrapes his teeth over the skin on his shoulder, kisses it right after. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Is all Louis can manage.

“Too good to be true.” Harry looks up underneath his lashes, keeping Louis’s eyes locked in a stare as his hand works its way around to Louis’s backside.

“I—” _can’t really think straight when you touch me like that_ , he thinks, as Harry’s come slicked fingers begin to spread him open. “I think I was just blind to it before. Like everything else.”

And there it is. Harry’s put words to his thoughts in a brand new way this time, by literally forcing it out of him instead of just filling in the blanks on his own.

Harry hums, giving his brows a slight wiggle as he starts to press a single digit inside.

He’s making it so fucking hard to follow that thought, but Louis lets the stretching sensation carry him through the epiphany that he was blind to the realities of the world, blind to his own intuition, too blind to see what’s been screaming at him since the moment they met. Harry feels like everything to Louis because he is everything to Louis. They’ve been doing this dance since before he was even capable of remembering and Harry’s just waited for him to fall into step all along.

“You opened my eyes.” He starts to speak his thought process out loud as Harry works him open with that Devilish smirk spread from cheek to cheek. “To everything. My world was so small before you.”

Now that Louis can see, it seems like the most obvious thing ever. Like, how could he possibly have missed it before? He must have been trying so hard.

Of course he’s always loved Harry. His life wouldn’t make any sense without him. The endless future looming overhead wouldn’t make a single ounce of sense without him.

“How do I make you believe it?” Louis is breathless, rolling his hips down onto Harry’s fingers, helping the process along.

“Just show me.” Harry hums again, before pressing his lips against the skin above the hem of Louis’s unbuttoned jeans.

Louis loosens up, falling flat and fuzzy like some actor from a cautionary drug ad.

Harry wiggles Louis’s jeans to his ankles, pants following moments later. He undoes himself and preps so sloppily it burns when he finally pushes in, but Louis is seeing fucking clouds in Heaven again.

It lasts a bit longer, considering Harry’s already deep amidst his thrusts by the time Louis hardens all over again. He’s smacking in fast and deep, so deep Louis feels it in his belly, and he’s so big and perfect and he smells like fresh laundry and sugar and sweat, and his groans are so full of heat and passion, and his hands have an iron hold against Louis’s hips as he pounds in time with the beat of Louis’s breaking heart.

And Louis has had his fair share of helpings of heartbreak in his days, but it’s the first time he’s ever felt it shatter out of pure ecstasy.

And Harry must know exactly where he’s at, because he keeps chasing his own release as he folds himself against Louis’s burning chest and speeds his motions through it, because Harry always knows.

Louis runs his hands down Harry’s back and holds him as their panting steadies into normal breathing again.

“I do love you, Harry.” He finally says again, now that his brain is effectively clear of its arousal high. “I need you to know that.”

“I know it, you idiot.” Harry says, kissing his lips just one quick time. “I was just waiting on you to figure it out for yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this final chapter, we switch perspectives. Louis/Harry/Louis. This will be marked with an *L or an *H for clarity.
> 
> Enjoy!

*L

The room is dark as the world outside when Louis’s eyes flutter open, but the first thing he notices is the door in the middle of their hotel bedroom. It’s completely ordinary in appearance, just a wooden frame supporting an equally unremarkable brown wooden door adorned with a golden knob. The reason he notices it, beyond the fact that it definitely wasn’t there when he went to sleep, is that stands on its own, surrounded by nothing but open space on either side, which leads him to believe that there’s nothing behind it either. 

So where does it lead, then? 

He’d ask Harry, but the space next to him is empty and cold like the rest of the room. It’s just Louis and the door. The door that seems to be taunting him somehow, tugging at the itch inside him that says it’s fun to throw caution to the wind sometimes and act without fear. And this ordinary door feels distinctly ominous in a way that dares him to peek through it.

Maybe even walk through it, despite that he’s got a pretty solid idea what might be waiting on the other side. And also not the faintest clue. 

  
*H

  
“So who was I in the last life?” Louis asks as they work their way through a bag of crisps on the hotel bed in Amsterdam, bare leg pressed tightly against his own underneath the covers. “Like, before you met me as Louis Tomlinson, who did you love?”

Harry still had plenty of shows left on tour, but thankfully Louis asked to join before he could offer. And much more thankfully, every night after his set finishes they haven’t bothered to stick around for Lizzo’s performance. Not that he doesns’t worship the ground she walks on, of course, but he’d much rather spend any free moments he gets making up for all the lost time with his lost love in the bedroom instead.

“Freddie Mercury.” He says, crunching on a handful of his own. 

Louis snorts a laugh. “Yeah, alright.”

“I know it sounds like a joke, but I’m dead serious.” He reiterates, “It’s quite funny actually, things were flipped when we met that time. He’d just formed the band and they were only playing small bars and clubs around London, trying to catch a break. I was sitting across the room, sipping my drink, realising you’d found your way back to me again.”

Freddie was kind. He was sweet and loving and he’d give anyone the shirt off his back without them even having to ask, but he knew where to draw the line and exactly how much he was worth. Just like Louis. Freddie had a certain air about him that commanded attention. When he spoke people listened, and when he sang he could make the whole world stop turning. In that way, Harry still felt like every word from Louis’s mouth was a song and it was his world that revolved around them.

“You’re shitting me right now.” Louis sits up straighter, unable to resist looking him in the eye for this. “I was Freddie fucking Mercury in a past life.”

“You were.” He grins. Louis’s eyes get wide, his brows raise, and his mouth hangs open like an emoji when he’s shocked by incredible news. 

“Bohemian Rhapsody, one of the greatest, most universally loved songs, by one of the greatest, most universally loved bands,” Louis digests the information out loud, “Was written and performed by me. In another life.”

“And Brian, Roger, and John.” He nods. “Good lads. Lots of fun to be had. I still hear from them every now and then.” 

Seeing their process firsthand is what made him start to consider pursuing music on his own. They got on so well together, the creativity and companionship that flourished between the lot of them kept him in awe for much of their their relationship. Harry’d always had a habit of chasing that feeling throughout his existence, so to even be on the outskirts of it was an inspiration in itself. If he couldn’t form a lasting connection in his personal life, then maybe the answer could be to connect with people in other ways.

“You have surprisingly little to say about all of this!” Louis practically shrieks. 

He laughs, “Celebrities hardly impress me anymore.”

“Well, no, but talent should!” Louis says. 

“Mm. And I was very proud of you.” Harry reaches over to brush a piece of Louis’s hair behind his ears. Plants a kiss in the middle of his forehead. “You’re what made me want to start in with my own music. I’d never written anything before we worked on Somebody To Love.” 

“No way.” Louis’s jaw drops.

“Way.” Harry teases, “That one started as an impromptu dance session in the kitchen.” 

They still do those together. In past lives and present ones. Louis knows by now that the line _kids in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor_ is a tribute to all their happy days together, but he probably didn’t realise it was written about one of the greats.

“Well, now you’re just showing off.” Louis sucks his teeth. 

Harry laughs, shrugging in admittance, “Maybe a bit. Your face gets very large when you’re in awe. S’ quite cute.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have been honest with me.” Louis huffs, crossing his arms and relaxing against the pillow.

“Why not?” His brows furrow. He thought Louis liked hearing about the times they’ve met before.

“Because if I thought I had big shoes to fill before, now I know I’ll never live up to Freddie fucking Mercury.” Louis pouts.

“He was something.” Harry agrees, “But he’s still here, you know,” He pokes a finger against Louis’s chest, right where his heart beats against it, “So the shoes are already filled.” 

“You love me more?” Louis asks.

He’ll probably never fully understand that Harry loves each version of him equally. There are moments when he misses the lives they used to share, back in vastly different eras where entertainment was scarce and they’d pass the days shooting game in the jungle or churning fucking butter on the prairie for all he cared. But Louis just can’t seem to grasp the concept of holding space in his heart for each and every one of the people he’s already bonded with and yet still being able to fit the most current version into that space right along with them. 

The fact that he wants to be Harry’s number one is a comfort in itself, though. And honestly, Harry wouldn’t trade him for any past version of himself, even Freddie fucking Mercury. Because Louis is the only one who’s literally been to Hell and back with him, seen all the ugliest and most repulsive parts of who he is, and still sees something worthy of _forever_ in all the best parts.

“More than every rockstar I’ve ever met.” He smiles, “Except Stevie. You can give up on filling those shoes. S’just not realistic.”

Louis smacks against his shoulder. “You were so smooth until that.”

“I’m still smooth.” He grins. “How else would I manage to keep you around if not for my unabashed proclamations of undying love and devotion?”

“This, for starters.” Louis smirks. He then has the audacity to brush his hands off on the duvet and attempt to snake his hand underneath the covers to palm at his cock.

“Have you gone mad?” Harry yelps, grabbing his wrist to hold his arm in place where it hovers. “Keep your greasy hands off my bits, thank you very much.” 

“But I miss him.” Louis whines. “It’s been like, four hours since our last romp.” 

“You’re an addict.” Harry scoffs.

“Speaking of that,” Louis says, “Did you pop out to visit Hell last night?” 

“Speaking of addiction?” He chuckles nervously, missing the correlation between the two. 

“Speaking of roughly four hours ago.” Louis clarifies.

Harry blinks. He hadn’t considered that Louis might have woken up to see the portal, probably because sharing a room was still mostly uncharted territory at this point. It didn’t used to be a problem to summon a door in his room or wherever he pleased for that matter, because his schedule hadn’t been so consumed by anyone else in so long.

“I did.” He says, simply. 

“And how are things at home?” Louis wonders. He can obviously tell that Harry’s reluctant to share too much. Hell talk seems to tensen Louis in a way that ignites a fear of him running again, so Harry would prefer to avoid it as much as possible at this point. All he’s ever wanted is a human life on Earth with this particular soul anyway, so he’d prefer to avoid Hell altogether if that were even possible. But alas, the responsibility remains inescapable no matter how he tries.

“This is home.” He pushes a stray lock of hair behind his ears to kiss him on the forehead.

“You know what I meant.” Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry keeps going anyway, kissing his nose, cheekbones, the scruff on the cut of his jaw.

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” He wonders, slow and sultry as he presses his lips to the vein at the side of Louis’s neck and feels his resolve weaken beneath it.

Louis shrugs, but his voice is shorter when he asks, “I’m supposed to care about your life, no?”

“Sure, but I’ve been popping off to Hell as long as we’ve known each other,” Harry runs his hand up the nape of Louis’s neck to curl at his roots there, “And you’ve never asked me how it’s doing before.” 

“I’d kind of put it out of my head all that time.” Louis says, allowing his head to loll back into the grip, exposing his neck even further. Amplifying the dip in his collarbones that Harry begins to work his way down to. “But it’s a significant part of you that doesn’t feel okay to ignore anymore. If you’re my…”

He doesn’t seem to know which word to describe them with, but all the ones Harry can come up with would probably scare him off faster than taking a trip directly to Hell itself. _Lover_ is the one the old fashioned side of him would prefer. _Soulmate_ seems a bit strong, for Louis anyway. _Boyfriend_ , not strong enough for his own liking.

So he just keeps peppering his lips across the skin that smells like summertime and butterflies.

“You know.” Louis finishes, awkwardly squirming away.

Harry breathes a laugh through his nose and retreats back to sitting, though not without replacing his lips with the gentle caress of fingertips. “I was waiting for you to decide.” 

“Do I have to?” Louis sighs, softening against the headboard. “What do you normally call me?” 

“You’ve been everything from my spouse to partner to husband.” He says, “In this life, I’d probably refer to you as my better half.”

“Well, that’s rather dreamy of you.” Louis teases, but there’s a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m nothing if not sincere.” Harry smiles back, kissing the tip of his nose while he ruminates.

“I think I’ll go with... since you’re my partner now,” Louis settles on that word, not skipping a beat from where they left off, “I kind of have to accept that you’re living a double life here. And I’ve always been curious about the other side, but you’ve never been so defensive.”

“Never had this much to lose.” Harry says, holding the gaze between them. 

“And you still don’t. I’m not going anywhere, love.” Louis is so soft underneath the abrasive layer he developed after tragedy struck him. He whispers when he’s serious, when he’s vulnerable, and that’s how Harry knows he means it.

Zayn bursts into the room at that point, never mind that the door had been locked with a hanger on it to indicate they were not currently in service. 

“Good morning, you crazy kids!” He shouts, arms spread wide to amplify his entrance.

Louis pulls the blanket higher over his chest, where Harry’s hands still roam.

“Excuse you!” He shouts, “Can’t you read?”

“Nope. School’s for humans.” Zayn fires back. “I can eat though, and my empty stomach knows it’s time for brunch. So get your horny bums down to the lobby with us or be left behind.”

Harry could not be happier with his life at the moment. It’s almost too good to be true. Not only has he finally been given the opportunity to love his favourite person into the next thousand millennia, but he’s got a whole new group of people to share that joy with as well. 

He can only hope he isn’t setting them both up for massive heartache to come. He’d never be able to forgive himself if these people were torn from Louis’s life on account of Harry’s personal punishment of losing everyone he’s ever cared about. It would only be his fault for caring in the first place.

But he really hopes that Louis’s immortality is the mark of a new beginning, a new era of Harry’s own personal happiness, where maybe he doesn’t have to suffer quite so much anymore. The Hell life will probably remain unchanged for eternity, but maybe the Earth life can start to look up now.

They still take their time getting ready, so by the time they make it down to the restaurant their table has already been seated and drinks have gone out to the crew.

“Bee comes from a big Catholic family.” Louis warns after she waves them over. “She’s not like, die hard practising these days, but still holds onto some of the beliefs. So you’ll really have to work at her.” 

“I’ve never met a woman who couldn’t be wooed with free brunch and endless mimosas.” He waves Louis’s concern away as they approach the group and hug their greetings.

Until Bebe. 

She partakes, of course. Between himself, Louis, Bebe, Niall, and Sarah they’re a fairly loud bunch, nevermind that Zayn and Mitch manage to control their volume despite the number of mimosas and sangria between them, but the staff at Park Plaza knows him well enough to treat their party with impeccable service regardless. 

“To Amsterdam!” Mitch holds his glass up in cheers as soon as Harry and Louis receive their cocktails, and they all follow suit. 

“Did you guys know Harry partied with Queen before?” Niall asks the table, a pretty even mix of people who know who he is and those who don’t.

“Apparently he’s been hiding in the industry shadows for a while, just waiting for his big break.” Sarah says. 

“Could say the same for you!” He counters. “You know what the overwhelming crowd favourite part of my career is? The drummer!” 

“You are lucky to have me.” She grins, “Now pass it along to all your little groupies.”

“As if you need help with that.” He says, “Got a line of ladies outside your room on any given night.”

“Could send some of them my way.” Niall waggles his brows at her from across the table.

“I quite fancy the singer. What’s his story?” Louis tips his mimosa back for a sip, then beams like he’s just made the greatest joke of the day. 

Harry rolls his eyes, but indulges him as usual. “Happily spoken for.”

“Anyone got a spare teaspoon I can use to gouge my eyeballs out?” Zayn makes a show of looking around everyone’s place settings for a prop. 

“Make it two.” Bebe chugs the remainder of her drink, tone suggesting the complete opposite of a friendly joke.

He suspects that beyond the whole Devil business, it’s something about his human influence that seems to offend Bebe rather than impress her. It’s not as if he flaunts his power in excessive ways, but he’d have to be daft not to take advantage of the glories offered to him based on his status. If he can’t have everything he wants out of human life, the least he can do is indulge in the better parts of what he does have access to. And if that means a polite word with the waitress or a simple flash of his VIP card to make sure they’re taken care of above and beyond, then he’ll be damned if he lets himself be shamed over it.

He doesn’t actually care if she likes him or not. He knows he should, objectively, it would be a far more peaceable arrangement for the two of them to get along, but he’s never been one to work hard at earning the approval of a human other than the one he’s chosen to tie himself to.

So when that particular human suggests that he and Bebe stop at the spa after eating because he’s just going to take a nap anyway, his hands are a bit tied. 

“No thanks,” Bebe shuts that down quickly, “I’m going to explore the city. It’s my first time.” 

“Fabulous! Harry knows where all the best spots are.” Louis counters. 

“You’re not subtle at all, sweetheart.” Bebe calls him out.

“Not trying to be.” He smiles, “I’d _really_ appreciate it if you’d at least try to get to know each other.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “I’m not the one who’s got a problem with that idea.” 

“I can spot a few of your problems from where I stand.” She gives him a visual up and down assessment.

“Bee,” Louis cautions. “At least take him with you. For me?”

“You will be the death of me.” She sucks her teeth, “I don’t mean that as just some cheeky banter or whatever. I literally mean that my love for you is going to get me killed someday.”

“Then you’ve already got something in common!” Louis grins as he waves them towards the door and joins Niall and Zayn in the lift back to their floor.

“How about we just pop into the spa for a quick massage and then you can be on your way?” Harry turns to Bebe once he’s out of sight. He doesn’t want to spend an entire day with her anymore than she does. “My treat.”

“Obviously.” She strolls off down the hall, where the signs lead the way to the spa portion of the building.

On the opposite spectrum, his love for Louis is probably going to lead him to kill somebody one day.

  
*

  
“You know I can’t be bought, right?” She asks the floor beneath her face as she lies stomach down on the table while the masseuse oils her back.

“I should hope you value yourself more than that.” He hums as he relaxes into the grind of knuckles against the knots in his shoulders. For all intents and purposes, his human suit allows his body to experience humanity in all the ways anyone else would, and after weeks of touring and sleeping on buses and hopping around on stage, there’s a fair amount of tension built up there.

“Then what exactly are you going for with all this?” She grumbles, “Luxury hotels, all expenses paid, a fucking spa date? It’s not working on me.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry quips, “But it’s got nothing to do with you. I just enjoy a certain living standard, which is zero trouble for me to extend to others.” 

She really didn’t have to come along if she’s going to act so repulsed by all of it. Harry didn’t even have to extend the invitation for her to tag along on tour; he only did so because she happened to be hanging out backstage that night, was already getting along with the crew, and because Louis and Niall both considered her a good friend. The least she could do was be grateful, and yet the simple job title she has a nasty taste in her mouth about still somehow takes priority over being a decent person.

“Mhm.” She hums, clearly not buying it. “You need me to like you.” 

“I would enjoy it if we could find some common ground.” He says, “But I certainly don’t need you for anything, and it would be wise on your part to give me a chance as well.”

Louis is clearly willing to proceed with him despite her reservations about it, so while it would be ideal for them to get along, in the end he’s going to outlast her anyway. 

She seems to recognise that, thanks to the unfriendly reminder.

“Fair enough.” She says, “I don’t get what he sees in you, though. He’s usually smarter than to fall for the fancy, smooth talking, nice guy act.”

“It’s not an act.” He says, no stranger to having to defend himself to humans who automatically don’t trust him, “You’ve just acknowledged that he’d see right through it. Give him some credit.” 

“You’ve got him completely dickmatised.” Bebe sighs, “I can’t compete with that. Or even blame him for it. We’ve all been there.”

Harry snorts a laugh. “We have indeed.” 

“You?” She sounds surprised.

“There’s obviously more to it than that, but I don’t think bed death is anywhere in our future.” He’s trying to be modest for the sake of making a good impression, but damn. If he’s the Devil then Louis must be a God. 

“A mutual dickmatising.” She considers that for a moment. 

“Hardly mutual.” He laughs again, “I’ve been caught up far longer than he has.” 

“I’m not buying that, either.” She says. “There’s no way you’ve been fucking around for thousands of years and have technically only been with him.” 

“I never said he’s the only one I’ve been with.” He clarifies, “He is the only one I’ve loved, though.” 

“More importantly,” She goes on as if he hadn’t said a thing, “I’ve just been going along with this whole Devil thing for his sake, and because I trust him not to be stupid enough to believe something like that without proof. But I haven’t gotten any proof myself.”

Harry considers that for a moment. People often can’t handle the image of him in full, burned flesh. So what could he show her that might be a little less shell shocking, and still get the point across? 

He wills the door to swing all the way open on its own. They’re both covered only by a towel around their bums, so she squeaks and pulls it up to cover her exposed back at the same time her masseuse panics.

“Jezus Christus!” He shouts in Dutch, as he rushes to close it and apologize profusely. The woman who’s working on Harry starts shouting at him, so Harry translates for Bebe’s benefit.

“You didn’t lock the door, you idiot?” He whispers, then goes on to speak for the man as well, “ _Of course I did, someone must have pushed it open._ Who in their right mind would disrupt an occupied room? _I don’t know what it was about, you saw it too!_ This better not get us a bad review. _Who gives a shit about that, I'm in this for the tip!_ ” 

Bebe’s scrunching her mouth like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. 

“That could’ve been anything.” She still tries to deny it. 

“I suppose the timing was just a perfect coincidence, then?” He prompts.

She shrugs and disappears back into the face hole of her table again.

“Well, I can’t convince you of something you don’t want to acknowledge.” He resigns. “How about we shift the focus onto you for a minute?”

It’s a tactic, of course. If there’s one thing he knows about humans, it’s that most of them will happily babble on about themselves for an hour plus without a care in the world. And he was right to count on that.

He already knew that she grew up in Brooklyn and moved to Berlin on a whim after meeting Louis. He knew that she was raised in a strict Catholic family, even went to a Catholic school, and of course he knew that she was Louis’s colleague, roommate, and biggest confidant. 

What he didn’t know is that she was so incredibly bright in more than just her outlook and expressions. That she dreams about being a wife and mother who runs her own business, though she hasn’t quite figured out what yet, she’s leaning towards her own bar because she fears that her fashion sense might not be as financially viable as she’d like to hope for. 

He knew that Louis was her best mate, but he didn’t know that she worried about him finding his own peace someday, in the same way that a mother would. He didn’t know that she was sharp enough to notice when he needed some prodding or some space in the same way that Harry did.

He didn’t know that her favorite colours are pink and purple, or that she actually enjoys Shirley Temples and pineapple on her pizza, or that she has strong opinions on luxury brand names and the evolution of fashion over the times, and that’s something he can discuss endlessly as well. 

He’s not exactly sure how she feels about him by the end of their 90 minutes, but he certainly didn’t expect to come out of it with a newfound fondness towards her.

And that’s solidified as they exit the parlour and she pauses in the doorway. 

“I guess Lou could do worse for himself.” She decides. 

“And he certainly has before.” Harry grins.

  
*

She goes on her way to explore the city afterwards, with a couple of his recommendations tucked into her pockets as well, and he heads upstairs to find Louis. He expected nothing less than to find him napping off the meal from earlier, but the sound of the door opening stirs him into half-consciousness.

And Harry has lived enough lives to match a thousand men, but never found a sound quite as soothing as Louis’s rough, sleepy voice. Solid competition from his moans and cries under the sheets, though.

“How’d it go?” Louis asks, sitting up to stretch his arms out. 

“Little rocky at first, but I think you were right to give a little push.” He says, hanging his coat by the door and heading for the kitchen to put on some tea. “We had a massage and she still wanted to go out afterwards.”

“But just like that, you’re friends now?” Louis calls from the other room.

“I can see what you like about her.” He says. Maybe friends isn’t the right word just yet, but he’s confident they’ll get there someday. 

“I’m glad.” Louis yawns through it, appearing a moment later to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and hug his back. “Thank you for giving her a chance.”

Harry keeps manouvering the kitchen with Louis attached. “You don’t want to join her in the city?”

“We’ve been here before. S’ old news.” Louis reminds him, as if he’d ever forget the time they poured bubble bath into the canals on a whim in attempt to cause trouble, or Louis’s pouty face when he realised they didn’t have near enough to make an impact beyond a line of fragile suds that quickly dispersed as it traveled away in the currents.

“You’ve never been with your best mate, though.” Harry reminds him back.

“Yes, I have.” Louis presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Plus, we’re heading to Antwerp early tomorrow, right?”

“If you consider check-out at 11am to be early.” He breathes a chuckle, turning around in the embrace to wrap his arms around his partner too.

“I did have a thought,” Louis says, looking slightly upwards to meet their eyes. “About the door I saw last night. Can’t you just summon one to the next hotel?”

He instantly deflates at that. Why Louis is still even thinking about the door is beyond him, let alone that he was even stupid enough not to cover his tracks while Louis is around. 

Whenever he does pop into Hell, he usually makes sure it’s on his own private time, but they haven’t been apart in a little over a week since Louis joined the tour and Harry’s never spent more than an earthly week away from that place until now, so a check-in was well overdue. Time there translates to more like a month and a half and he knew the fucking demons couldn’t be trusted to keep things in order, but it’s all just so overwhelming to deal with on his own.

And it turned out to be a good thing he went back because they did slip into the chaos of mismanagement while he was out. Some no-name newbie thought it would be fun to take over the throne in his absence, and of course the others weren’t having that, so by the time Harry returned it was to a bloodbath battle of every demon for himself, with the weaker ones left in shreds across the imaginary battleground they’d created by destroying rows of buildings meant to contain the tortured souls. 

Cleanup and re-containment would take no less than a few months of Hell-time. Considering how differently his powers worked there, it meant that the only way of handling it would be to assemble a team of unwilling participants to physically rebuild everything and another to wrangle up the wandering souls and put them back to their rightful rooms again. It was a headache just to think about.

And he’s fully aware that none of it would’ve happened if he wasn’t consistently avoiding his responsibility to rule the kingdom of the dead in the first place. But he shouldn’t have let that lead him to also avoid his responsibility in keeping that part of his life unreachable to the human he’s devoted himself to either.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“You’re still stuck on the portal?” He asks.

“I guess I just didn’t expect to see it like that.” Louis shrugs, “Just a door in the middle of the room at night. It was odd.”

“How did you think I travelled between here and Hell so quickly?” Harry tries to distract his attention with a conversation instead. Usually getting him wondering about the mechanics of things is enough to quench his thirst.

“Well, you’ve mentioned that there’s a portal before.” Louis recalls, “But I didn’t expect it to be a literal door.” 

“You’ve never seen Hell outside of your room or my office before.” He acknowledges, “But it’s pretty fitting to the rest of it.”

Fucking rows and rows of boring office buildings, stuffed with fucking rows and rows of boring doors that lead to boring rooms of boring torture. Boring to Harry anyway, because he’s seen it all before, too many times to even begin to count. 

To any normal and sane human, the things happening inside those boring office rooms would be deeply traumatising. 

“How so?” Louis’s pupils widen in that inquisitive way that lets Harry know he won’t be dropping the subject so easily.

“Why don’t you tell me how someone goes from not being able to even tolerate the idea of their partner being so Hell-oriented to suddenly craving the insignificant details?” Harry fusses. He’s having some of his own flashbacks now. More than a few of Louis’s past selves have been curious before, and not a single one of them has lived to tell the tale.

“I just want to know what’s behind it.” Louis’s voice goes gentle in a way that’s the complete opposite of soothing. He’s being soft in the hopes of softening Harry as well. “Like, if I were to open it, what exactly would be the first thing I’d see?” 

“Hell, Louis!” Harry raises his voice now, wiggling out the embrace to stare him down directly, completely triggered by the boldness of such an inquiry. “That’s what’s behind it! That’s exactly what you’d see!”

He’d sooner take up full time residence and never visit the living again if it meant not having to see the love of his fucking life be devoured by a pack of raging demons again. If it meant not having to pull him out of the endless loop of a psychological torture room, if it meant keeping him safe and alive on Earth where he belongs. Harry would do anything for that. Even scare the shit out of him if he has to.

“Rows and rows of fucking torture rooms containing the departed consciousness of literal murderers, rapists, sex traffickers, child predators, abusers, etcetera. People who’ve done nothing with their lives but inflict horrible, gruesome, pain and suffering on other innocent humans.” He spits, “Demons, flying freely around the perimeiter, conducting physical and emotional torture of the same caliber on souls who absolutely deserve every bit of it. Not to mention the state of disarray the place is right now. For worse than usual.”

“What do you mean?” Louis tries.

“It doesn’t matter what I mean, Lou!” He adds, knowing exactly where this is going now. He can’t lose Louis again, he just can’t. Not after everything they’ve been through in this life alone, nevermind all the others. He can’t imagine anything crueler than the Powers letting him think that they’d finally found their forever, only to have Louis ripped away from him by bloody demon death again. 

And some part of him is aware that Louis is immortal now, but how solid is that immortality, exactly? What if there are’s terms to it, and what if one of those terms is that he can’t be killed by anything in the human world? What if they simply change their minds in lieu of Harry’s fucking idiotic mistake and decide to rescind the immortality altogether? 

It’s just not a risk he’s willing to take. They know for sure that he’ll be around for eternity as long as he remains on Earth, where it’s been proven that death is impossible for him.

“The things in these rooms would change you.” He says, gravely. Willing with everything in him for Louis to just trust him on this. “Fucking hot irons shoved into cock holes, surgery tools swallowed and puked out again, dumbbells dropped onto faces, ribs, legs, every bone in their bodies broken. Brains and eyeballs and skin being carved out with dull cutlery, full body acid baths, bloody limbs eaten alive, mountains of shit shovelled into mouths and any other holes—”

“Harry! Okay!” Louis shouts his interruption this time. 

“And the demons themselves are ruthless!” Harry goes on anyway, fueled by his fury and passion and panic, “A huge majority of them have been banned from ever stepping foot on Earth, so I promise you, they would not hesitate to inflict any of that on a living human body. Do you want an iron rod shoved up your arse? Does that sound like a fun Saturday night to you?”

“Only if it’s yours.” Louis half-mumbles his fucking lame joke, and that only sets Harry further on edge. It’s proof that he’s not taking it seriously as he should. And suddenly Harry can’t tell what that means for their future.

“I have found your body scattered in pieces on the floor before.” He supplies this time, “Can you imagine it for yourself, please? Imagine seeing me completely mutilated before your eyes. Imagine never seeing me alive again afterwards.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Of course he can’t imagine anything happening to Harry, the invincible Lord of the Underworld. 

“Except I would be alive afterwards.” He says, “And where is all this coming from, anyway? I basically asked how your day was this morning and now you’re ranting about me being murdered by demons?”

“Because I know you, Louis, and I know what that curiosity means.” He keeps his voice firm. “I don’t mind sharing arbitrary details about the afterlife, but asking me how everything is back at home is a fucking joke. It’s bloody torture, that’s how it is. That’s how every day is.”

“Okay.” Louis says again, level this time as he holds his palms up in a show of surrender. “Portal door: off limits. Now will you come to bed, please?”

“I need a shower first.” He mumbles, genuinely needing a moment to calm his own head back down. 

  
*L

  
Harry’s right about one thing: he does know Louis well enough to know that the subject is anything but dropped. If anything, the fact that Harry’s being so adamant about him not going through the door has fueled his curiosity even further to go through the fucking door. And it wasn’t even a thought to actually do that in the first place, but now that he’s been furiously demanded not to, he simply has to. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll find. Maybe it’s exactly what Harry said about all the crazy torture rooms. Maybe he’ll end up traumatising himself in other ways; unforgettable ways, maybe he really will be changed forever by the confrontation of real, actual, blood and guts of another human soul. Not just images on a silver screen.

It would certainly be the rawest, most unsettling thing he’s ever seen, short of his own family being burned alive which he didn’t actually see, but only heard and experienced. And even that feels something like a distant memory now, packed neatly away inside a box of Why You Are The Way You Are, but not in a bad way like before. They’ll never be pleasant memories, of course, but they don’t feel like such unspeakable things anymore. It happened. His family burned alive in his childhood home, he survived and became immortal, thanks to his best mate and the love of his life, The Devil himself. It’s just his life now, and if that isn’t true acceptance and recovery he couldn’t tell you what is.

And maybe facing the reality of that has turned out to be a good thing for him, because being with the Devil sort of makes him want to prove himself. Beyond his physical invincibility, how can he really think himself worthy to stand beside the King of human punishment without actually being able to confront that punishment head on? He can’t live his life pretending that Harry is just a normal human who occasionally pops in and out of this arbitrary world of pain and despair sometimes, and why would Harry even want that for himself anyway? Wouldn’t he prefer someone who can be his equal rather than someone he has to coddle and shelter away from the hidden evils of the world? 

And if he happens to pop in to visit Hell himself and the demons want to rip him apart or whatever, it’s not like he won’t come back anyway. So really, there’s no reason for Harry to be so worried about the virtual impossibility of losing him forever. He’s just being an overprotective partner, and while that’s all very sweet and touching, Louis doesn’t need protecting anymore. Maybe he did at one point, when it was all still new and frightening to him, but that person is long gone now. 

Harry comes out of the shower in all his bare glory and Louis feels himself melt into momentary submission. His eyes follow the form of his figure from the unruly mop adorning his head, along the jawline of his face, to the sinews in his neck and the broad shape of his shoulders, the flex of his arms and the ink drawn on them, the outline of each ab line down to the dip of his hips, the tuft of hair between his legs and the girth of his thighs, the crook of his knees, the thicker hair along his shins and calves. Right down to his little orange nails as his toes bend across the floor with each of his steps. 

“Hey,” He says softly to grab Harry’s attention as he pulls the covers back to make room for himself. Harry pauses, locking their eyes together for a brief moment.

“I love you.” Louis says. 

He really does love him. It’s surprising how quickly it set in once he actually realised it. Now it’s just become a tidal wave of emotion engulfing him at all times, to the point where he can’t believe he’s been blessed with the honor of having a best mate to love and do life with. 

Which is exactly why they should be able to do life together. _All_ of life.

Harry smiles, though not enough for the dimples to show up. “I adore you.”

Louis smiles back, content to fall asleep feeling that everything is okay between them despite the rage he worked Harry into before.

Louis just wants him to know he doesn’t have to worry.

  
*

  
He wakes around the same time that night. There’s no door in the room this time, but Harry is missing again, so he knows what that means. 

He considers staying where he is, sure, but more loudly, he considers flipping the covers off and digging around the laundry pile in the wardrobe for some trackies and a hoodie. He thinks about it as he slips his feet into Vans, and he’s definitely considering things clearly when he makes his way down the hall, into the living area, searching for the door that he’s sure Harry’s hidden somewhere. 

He pokes his head into the bathroom, the kitchen, heads back to the living room to see if maybe he’s so delusional that he could’ve missed something. Checks out on the terrace to be sure. Even pokes his head into the hallway to see if maybe he’s put it against a wall out there. He tries every single handle to find them all locked, which he’s only partially sure means they are in fact, real rooms. He can only assume that Harry wouldn’t be able to lock a portal to the underworld once he walks through it, although it would make infinitely more sense for him to be able to do exactly that.

He’s really just running on hope at the moment. The idea that if he’s really meant to walk through this door and get himself acclimatised to the reality of Hell in all its torturous glory, then it will work out as such. Just like everything else that was meant to happen in his life and between the two of them has.

And if he does happen to receive a definitive sign from the Higher Powers that he’s gone off his fucking trolley for even considering such a thing and should absolutely not pursue it, then The New Louis is no longer daft enough to ignore such a thing.

But if the niggling in his gut is anything to take seriously, he’d say that the former is more likely to be true. And he has to figure out _why_ he’d feel such a call to walk through the door, and seeing as Harry won’t even entertain the subject of it, there’s only one way to do so.

Just as he’s on his way backto the bedroom, he runs head first into an invisible wall behind the sofa. 

“Fuck! Shit! Bastard!” He curses into the night, hands instinctively flying up to caress his forehead and collect himself.

He reaches a hand out to feel for the mostly flat surface before him, following the dips in the bland rectangular pattern of the timber, resting on the ridges of the frame, and tracing it down to the smooth metal of the knob he can’t fucking see. It just looks like he’s holding the air, which is completely bizarre, but his hand is visibly curled around the knob and he can feel the cool metal against his palm as he rests it there for a beat.

He wonders how long Harry’s been gone and when he plans to come back. He’s clearly gone out of his way to make sure that Louis can no longer see the portal, so as to not be tempted to walk through it. But what if he turns the knob and Harry’s waiting on the other side, prepared to barricade him from stepping onto the other side?

And what’s even on the other side, anyway? 

Does it lead to Harry’s office, will it drop him off in his personal torture room again, or will he just be faced with some kind of dramatic entrance to the entirety of Hell itself? Greeted by bloodthirsty demons, perhaps? If they’ve been banned from Earth, does that prevent them from flying out of the door to wreak havoc on the world anyway? What kind of person would he be if he actively let a demon infestation loose into the world? 

A thousand different questions rattle through his brain as he stalls in front of the portal to Hell in the living area of the goddamn suite he’s staying at with The Devil himself. 

If he wasn’t meant to be exactly where he is at the moment, then why else would he have ended up here?

He holds his breath as he twists the knob, slowly, carefully, quietly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my dears! That’s all for now, but stay tuned for part 2. 
> 
> If you’d like to take a moment to share your thoughts with me, I’d absolutely love to hear it. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Made [rebloggable](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/615558197705605120/the-devil-in-my-brain-by-me-princesshalo) for your convenience. :) x


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